Whever the Road Shall Take Thee
by Doreen Tracy
Summary: A continuation of Sue Walker's 'The Road Goes on Forever.' Sam and Al's relationship grows as Sam tries to cope with what had happened to him. SLASH.


Wherever the Road Shall Take Thee

Inspired by Sue Walker Created by Doreen Tracy

It was a fight to con the docs into letting Sam leave the hospital the next morning. Bright and early at seven that kid was wide awake, ordering the nurse to take his temp immediately. He hadn't lost that 'doctor' voice, or the look. Only I saw the pain in his eyes, knew that even the slightest touch, medical or not, upset him.

The hall was just starting to get noisy with breakfast, stirring of bodies in the early morning. The night before, sitting here with a smoke, a cup of joe, was a memory. I took a minute to call Beeks, to tell her that the boy was trying his best to talk the docs into releasing him.

"You can't let them do that," she said, her voice blurry from sleep but determined. "He needs time to heal in a medical environment."

"Look," I said. "I'm tired m'self Dead..." I rubbed a hand over my eyes and leaned against the wall. "He won't take no for an answer. I'll take him home to our place, get him ensconced in bed and you can have all the time you want with him..."

"You can't nurse him, Al. He'll need help with the bathroom, his brace, an IV..."

"I'll hire someone or you can do it." I heard the resignation before she said a word. "I can't keep him here any longer than he wants to be in that room, Bena." My fingers gripped the phone, almost turning white . "Look, he wanted me to kill him last night. I need you to talk to him ..."

"Al, rm not Annie Sullivan! There's no quick fix here." Her sigh was disgruntled. Okay, so I'm good at exasperating her. "He'll need therapy, group and singular, at first. According to what I've been told he may need physical therapy to get his voice back. That bastard - he did a real number on his trachea , Al ..."

"He's talking," I said. I caught movement by Sam's door and swung around so he could see me if he wheeled out. "He's getting ready to leave. I'll see you at the house. You still have a key ..."

"Yeah, but I still think this is a terrible idea..."

"You tell Sam that," I snapped and hung the phone up quickly as he was pushed out in a wheelchair.

Someone, probably Beeks, had brought clothes for him. Loose and warm; running pants, a too big T-shirt that was bare of slogans or anything . Just clean and white.

He looked like a little boy . It really crushed my heart. His head was tilted back because of the brace, eyes riveted right on me.

So...Itook him home. They maneuvered him into the car and we drove off, after signing more than a few papers. Sam did that, not even reading the fine print. Tossed the clipboard on the desk and waited for me to push him out without a word .

"You hungry?" I tried.

"No" His lips went tight. "Thank you," he said as an afterthought.

I gripped the wheel and we drove in silence for a while. I thought about switching on the radio but shook that impulse off as quickly as I thought of it. What we didn't need now was some bouncy jazz station.

"Al."

"Yeah." I kept my eyes on the road, not wanting him to know how my heart leapt when he said my name, hoping he needed something from me. Anything.

"They killed him?"

My heart skipped a beat. "Shot him," I said, I dont' know much more than that." He was tryin' to break through a security checkpoint."

"I never saw his face," he said, his eyes returning to the passing landscape. "Al?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you kill me, if I asked?"

I set my jaw and didn't reply to that. It was unfair that he asked me such a thing again. The best thing I could think of doing was simply not answering him. I turned into our driveway and into the garage. Sam didn't say another word.

He managed to get out of the car by himself and, shaking; walked from garage to door, to his room and shut it closed behind him.

I thought quickly what could be behind that door he could harm himself with. Razors, sure. Maybe some pills he kept in his bathroom, or the sharp edge of ...

"Sam." I knocked once, my hand turning on the door knob. With a flood of relief, I saw he was on his back on the bed, staring out the diamond shaped windows that covered one side of his wall. The sunlight was muted but brilliant. "Do you need anything?"

His eyes were closed, his mouth downturned. I wanted to go to him, pull his body into my arms and hold him close. Damn Beeks. Where was she?

"I won't kill myself," he whispered. "I promise, okay?" His voice was tight, controlled, his fingers gripping the blanket under his butt. "Leave me alone, please ? I...I'll call if I need you."

But would he need me? And when? I eased the door shut, allowing the complete trust I had in him to hold true this time.

Sam:

Finally, I was in my room, my quiet, clean room and alone. Not that I minded Al being near. It was getting a little on the close side and I needed to breathe, maybe to think.

Everything still hurt. I'd refused pain meds but even the stubborn side of my mind told me that eventually I'd need something. At least the meds would help me sleep.

I balled up the paper that the doctor had given me for the prescription and set it on my small table. It was quiet and didn't smell like the hospital . That alone made me feel something.

The fact of the matter was I felt nothing but dead. Every moment I'd have a flash of what happened and crash down into that black hole again.

To be honest all I remembered was the garrote coming around my throat, being dragged to the bench, what happened then, and blackness. He'd tightened the garrote at the last, hoping, I figured, to kill me after he'd had his fun. I didn't really remember when I'd broke my arm.

Beeks had found me on the floor. I knew that because she told the medics when they'd arrived. That had came to me in fuzzy flashes. That and knowing that whoever had done this was dead. Someone had killed him. Somehow that didn't make me feel any better.

I slept some, woke, stared at the brilliant sunlight and slept some more. If Al came in I didn't notice.

It was later, I realized, waking . The sun had changed, dimmer, somehow. Muffied voices came from beyond my door, quiet, gentle.

Going to my door, I moved to open it, and froze. Al. Al was...

He was crying. Al was crying.

I slid to the floor, pressing my ear against the wood, waiting, wrapping my arms around my body as tight as I could and rocking . Like I would hold Al, if I could bear it.

It took forever until the weeping quieted. Silence. I closed my eyes, still leaning against the door, holding myself. Al.

"I understand," I heard Verbena say. She sounded choked up, sad. I was doing this, I realized, I was making Al cry. "You love him so much, Al. So much."

I knew that Al loved me, cared for me like he always had. I just didn't realize that he would cry for me.

It took a little effort, but I got to my feet, went back to my bed, and pulled the blanket over my legs. It was warm, smelled nice. A tear or two leaked from my eyes, but I didn't cry. It just hurt so damned much to feel, to even think about venting.

Al was so lucky. He could cry, he could...feel.

By and by, I finally fell asleep again.

The scent of cooking woke me. It was much later, almost dark and, yes, I felt some sense of hunger. Thirst. I had to pee.

The bathroom was easy to solve. I avoided the mirror . Leaned over the sink and did my best to wash my face, rinse the reflection that I knew was there. Even tried combing my hair. It was long, too long. Maybe I'd have it cut.

Staggering, I made it to the door, to the living room and to the kitchen without falling down. Al glanced at me, smiled and, without trying to look worried, pulled a dining room chair out for me to sit in.

"Sit. I'm making your favorite for dinner."

"You don't need to fuss," I said. It was more than I had said all day and it hurt to talk. I placed one hand against the collar, leaning forward against the table. "Al..."

"Shhh."Al was at my side immediately but not so close that I felt crowded .

"Water?"

"Yes," I managed. "Was Verbena here?"

"She brought you some stuff Pills, I think . Said that if you didn't eat she'd have you put back in that hospital."

"I'll eat." Blinking, I looked around the kitchen. There were two pots on the stove, steaming. Soup, I thought. Always liked Al's chicken soup. I smiled softly and then felt like throwing up.

"So..." Al sat down across from me. "I'll get you a little bowl of soup, okay?"

"If it means that or ..." I just nodded .

I ate about half. Maybe less. Al didn't force more. I did drink a great deal of water and asked for more by pushing the glass at Al and waiting. His dark eyes looked so sad. I knew he wanted to hold me. I just couldn't allow that. Oh God, I wanted it so, yet I knew that touch was just too much right now.

"Pills, you said." I hesitated on each word and then closed my eyes. I was still so tired.

"Said you'd want 'em." He slid the bottle across the table at me. I noticed that he had not eaten a single bite of his meal. "One's pain meds, the other..." Al shrugged and looked tired. God, he hadn't slept this whole time, I guessed. "She said it was Valium. It'd make you feel less stressed out, I guess."

Wordlessly, I took the bottles, read the labels and shook two of the Valium into my hand. My guts were jittering, my head, my heart. I just wanted peace. This was my ticket to peace, to a settling, even artificial. I took the pills, washing them down with a glass of cold water.

There was an odd expression on Al's face, a mixture of dismay and worry. I tried to smile, failed and got up from the table.

It took the pills about a half hour to work and when they did I felt more relaxed than I'd been in twenty-four hours. I sort of slid onto my bed, sprawled there and half -closed my eyes. Everything was nice and quiet, warm.

Vaguely, I heard the bedroom door open, saw Beeks enter. She sat by my bed, watching me. I sort of rolled my eyes in her direction, smiled and turned onto my side to face her.

"Feeling good, Sam?" she asked. She looked more worried than anything. "Al said you took the Valium."

"Yeah. Took 'em." I grinned and fell onto my back again. "It makes things ... clearer."

"What things, Sam?" She leaned forward a little. It was hard to tum my head with the collar so I rolled my eyes in her direction and waited for whatever she'd have to say. "Tell me."

"You know, Doctor, I could have killed him." I stretched my hands out in front of me, the right one mostly . My left wrist was still encased in a cast-would be, for some time. "I had the ability, the training.

"The coward came from behind, Sam. He was silent and you were working."

"Al always said I had to be more aware of my s...surroundings!" I dropped my arms to either side and sighed. "I didn't even hear him, Verbena. Not a word, not a step." I felt everything go heavy and dull in me as I thought of it, as if the medication was keeping me from remembering . I had to like this stuff! "And I don't want to talk about it. Maybe not ever.

She rested one hand on my right arm and I flinched . "Sam, tell me," she said softly. "Tell me if you want to go through the rest of your life never being touched , or loved. Tell me that and I'll leave right now."

Closing my eyes, I tried to pull away but she held on gently, not releasing me.

"Sam, you have to think about that. He tore into a special place, a part of you that has known only care and gentleness. It wasn't sex-it was brutal anger. Nothing more."

"He got his rocks off," I said, jerking out of her grasp. "He told me I was a good fuck, Dr. Beeks. Is that what you wanted me to tell you?"

Her face registered surprise and fear. "You heard him say that?".

"That and his moans of pleasure as he..." I swallowed and turned away from her. His dick was still buried in my ass, burning, hot, ripping into me. No other words could come out; they were stuck firmly in my throat like a fish bone would be. I kept swallowing and swallowing, hoping I could digest the words I'd said to her, take them back. What did come out was what I guess could be called a animal sound. When things hurt the most I could only cry like that, like I had when he had tore into me.

By and by, she left me alone. I know I curled into a ball, that the Valium helped me rest, calm. I wasn't terribly sleepy; been doing that most of the day.

For the first time I could think, see the situation and make some sort of plan. Despite Al, despite the pain he was going through, I would put him through more before the worst of this was over.

Getting out of bed , I went to the bath, removed the collar and looked at myself in the mirror . Objectively, I looked like crap. The garrote had scarred my throat, a deep, red gash that looked as if it had been branded into my flesh. I fingered it, feeling the soft tissue. I didn't want Al to see that, see the scar. It would be there until I probably had something done to it.

My hair was too long and very dirty. I hadn't showered-the cast was waterproof so I didn't have that excuse. I dug around in my medicine cabinet, came up with some scissors and started chopping. When I was finished I had a clump of dirty hair in the sink, on the vanity, and the floor. My head looked like a military haircut. Short, almost to the scalp.

"My God. Sam!"

I turned and faced Al. He was standing in the doorway, one hand half covering his lips.

"What the hell did you do?" He took the scissors from me carefully and stepped back as if he were afraid I'd jump if he came closer. A broken smile appeared on his face, fake as hell but I knew he was trying. "Hell, if you'd wanted a haircut I could do better'n that, kid."

AL

I'd heard some sound, a faint thing. My ears were on the alert since I'd brought him home. The hardest thing was to remain rooted to whatever I was sitting or standing on so he wouldn't think I was spyin' on him. That's the last thing, Beeks had said, that he or I needed.

O'course, after he'd been in the bathroom for more'n twenty minutes without the water running I got scared. I didn't expect to find him standing in front of the mirror, his throat lookin' a little like Frankenstein's and that long, thick hair of his decoratin' the floor and sink.

He hadn't just chopped it off-it was clean down the scalp in parts. Like in the hospital? With the comb? The hardest part was keeping the anger from my face. I'm sure it showed, but he didn't say anything.

Not touching him was the worst now . He looked like an angry little kid that had done something very bad.

"All right," I said, trying to sound light. "You wanna haircut, maybe then you want a bath, right?"

He made what I thought was a negative sound and brushed right past me into his bedroom. Did that without touching me. The bathroom was kind of closed quarters. This wasn't going to be an easy night, not like last evening had been. Oh yeah, like that was a cinch.

Sam was on the bed, curled into a ball, or as best he could with that collar on. His fingers were fumbling to get it fastened as quick as he could. I'd have done anything to help him with it.

"Are you hurting, Sam?" He fell onto his back and closed his eyes. "Do you wanna sleep now?"

"I'm fine," he whispered, voice rough. He adjusted himself against the pillows and ignored me. "I wanna sleep."

"Okay, kid. You sleep." I turned off the light, took one more look at his silhouette as he stared out the windows and half-shut the door behind me. Left it open a crack. I wondered if I'd ever get any sleep ever again.

Should I go running to the phone, call Beeks? It seemed a good idea, considering that Sam had practically tried to scalp himself with a scissors.

SAM

Laying there, I could let myself drift. The pills helped, keeping my mind light as I relaxed into the soft bed. Dimly, I heard Al, speaking to probably Beeks about my bizarre (even to myself) behavior .

Later, I heard her voice, bringing me to full consciousness the moment she said the word 'hospital'.

"There are private institutions, Al." I sat up straight when I heard that, knowing Al was listening to her. "You can't do this, and it's beyond what I can do alone. He's not going to wake up and respond normally, maybe never again."

I knew that. I wasn't stupid. Why wasn't she discussing this with me? Why with Al? I had my own mind, thank you very much.

"Give it time," Al replied. God, he sounded tired, dragged out. "He's just come home and it only happened a couple of days ago. You can talk to him, maybe find another doctor that can..."

"Al, he needs stability. You need rest. You're not well, either. Look at yourself!" Her voice was low and urgent. I tiptoed to the cracked door to listen, sinking to my knees on the carpet and leaning against the smooth, solid wood. "You're no spring chicken . You're pushing sixty-four. A few more days of this and you'll be admitted to intensive care. When was the last time you took a nap, or ate?"

"Had dinner," he said. I could almost see the shrug. "Look, Beeks, he's all I got. Puttin' him in a hospital would make him think I was betrayin' him. And it's no solution. How would you like it if we did that to you?"

"I'd hate it, but if it did me good in the long run, I'd be grateful later. Especially when the person that cared more about me than anyone would be hurt if I wasn't admitted ."

Al hurt? I held my head and tried to think. That's all I was good for lately, thinking. His heart, perhaps, or just stress pushing his blood pressure up until he had a stroke? I was his doctor, I knew what he was susceptible to.

"I'll stay here tonight and possibly tomorrow," Beeks said. "But I'm ordering you. Get some sleep or you'll be in the infirmary as of this time tomorrow."

Getting to my feet, which wasn't easy, I went back to my bed and pretended to sleep figuring either Beeks or Al would check in on me before they bedded down. The door opened, letting in a little more light. I cracked my eyes open as Al approached the bed, tugged my blankets up, and smiled at me.

"You need anything, kid?" he asked.

I didn't say anything. I knew where my pills were, if I needed them. Water was by the bed. Closing my eyes, I waited until he was out of the room before I opened them.

My guess was that Beeks was bedding down in the guest room, on the other side of the house. Al was next door but once he crashed, assuming Beeks would make him take some of her pills, he would be soundly out.

I had two choices: remain here and be put in a private hospital with the mentally ill or insane, or get out quickly and painlessly, at least for Al.

Waiting another hour, I got up carefully. Al was snoring and Beeks' light was off. So far, so good. I grabbed a pair of soft, too big jeans from the bottom drawer of my dresser and a sweatshirt. My wallet was on the dressing table along with credit cards, my truck keys and a good amount of cash. Wherever I wanted to go I could afford it.

I made it to the kitchen undetected and wrote a quick note to Al only. Stuffing my pills into the duffel I'd quickly packed, I slipped out the door and reset the alarm behind me. So far, so good.

The trick would be to start the truck and pull out without alerting either Al or Beeks. Simple. We had a sloping drive, not unlike Mom's and Dad's had been on the farm. I simply put the truck in gear and glided out, not starting the engine until I was well out onto the road.

Where I was going, I wasn't sure. The first stop would be an ATM to grab some much needed funds. Then, possibly, I'd go north.

AL

I woke about two and found his bed empty. I wasn't too scared until I checked the garage. Then I yelled like hell for Beeks.

We sent out an alert to the base but something told me that my brilliant boy would vanish as quickly as he wished to.

"You had to talk about putting him away," I snapped. Beeks look stricken when I said that. I didn't care. "I'll never do that, never. Now he's gone."

She sat pensively at the table, fingering the note Sam had written to me. I snatched it up and read it through again, hoping to find some clue in the brief words.

"We have to find him," I said, pulling on my leather jacket. "I'm going out and I'm not coming back until I've located him." My hands shook as I zipped up the coat.

"You're in no shape to drive, let alone..."

I gave her a good glare and went out the door.

My car was faster than Sam's truck. If he had taken the road out full tilt I could catch up with him, no problem. And, believe it or not, I did find him, not more'n five miles from the house .

First off I saw the truck, half pulled off the road. The next thing was Sam, a lone form cowering in the dirt as I pulled up, lit by my headlights . He looked terrified and angry as hell.

"What the hell do you think you're doin'?" He just squatted there, angry, not looking at me as I stalked up to him. "Goddarnn it, Sam. I'm takin' you home ."

"And then?" The look he gave me was pure defiance.

"Then, we'll talk." I squatted down across from him and suddenly realized I was still in my silk jammies and slippers . Other than my leather jacket I was badly dressed for night in the desert. Sam wasn't much better off. "I swear, Sam, on a stack of dirty magazines, I won't let her put you anywhere. I have power of attorney, remember?"  
He nodded, tight, controlled .

"Yeah. And she can't do a damned thing about it. It's airtight, unbreachable."

He seemed to be thinking it over, carefully . Everything Sam did was careful, calculated. Finally, he looked up at me. "Promise me, Al. You'll see me dead before I'm put in one of those places."

"Sam..."

"You have to promise or I'll run again."

"Sam, if Beeks says it might be best for you to have some outpatient care...will that work? Or will you fight her?" His head tipped down, looking at the dirt . "Sam, look, it's cold, there's snakes out here, spiders. I wanna go home, kid. Let's go home and talk to Beeks. She's reasonable and, trust me, she'll listen."

His eyes came up, trusting and afraid all at once. "I'll follow you in the truck," he said. "We'll talk."

I didn't offer him a hand up, let him stand on his two feet and go alone to the truck. It was harder'n hell to trust that he'd follow me-this time.

We did talk, at least Beeks did most of the talking. She managed , by seven a.m. to talk Sam into trying the outpatient plan. He flat out refused the full time arrangement and I sided with him. Beeks really hated that, but tough. We were a tea d would always be at least that .

I don't remember putting my head down, or crashing out on the kitchen table. What I do recall was Beeks tucking me in and closing my blinds. For the first time since the nightmare had began I felt Sam was safe, that someone who cared would take care of him.

SAM

Beeks left me with a warm breakfast and the television remote, promising to return at lunchtime. We'd have yet another 'chat'. I'd been sort of shocked at Al falling out like he had, but he was tired, h been through hell. In a way, he'd been raped, beaten.

Setting breakfast aside, I got up and went to his room. Al was on his side, eyes closed, sleeping deeply. Sinking down by his bed, I watched him for several minutes before I picked up the day planner that was sitting by his bed.

It was just dates, plans. I flipped a few pages until I found today's date and just stared. Everything was canceled; important meetings, lunch dates, even a fitting for a suit. As I turned pages I realized he'd put his life on hold for the next year so he could be with me.

How could I be so selfish last night and leave him like I had? How in the world could I have doubted his protection or caring?

I turned back to the day before I'd been attacked. The flight was listed, the meeting and ...my name. He'd written it over and over until it literally covered the page. Sam. Sam. Sam. Sam. Sam.

It was shaky, as if written on the flight, or in a car. My fingers traced the writing until the impact of it filled my mind with disbelief and anger.

Not at Al. I set the book down and left the room before Al could see I was looking at it. Sinking on the couch, I leaned back and closed my eyes. God. Was Al in love with me?

All the signs had been there, every nuance of caring. The morning he'd left he'd seemed ...melancholy, as if he never wanted to leave me. The look on his face when I'd waved good-bye, as if I were the best thing in the world to him. It made my heart ...God. It made me want to sing with joy to see that light fill his eyes.

And now ...I would never know if we could have had anything.

AL

"Admiral? Sir?"

"Hmm?" Woolgathering again. Inside my head there's a place where this thing never happened to Sam, where we continued on the course we were set on before that cursed night. Where I'm not sitting at this desk anymore, I'm living in the house I was gonna build out in the desert with Sam. Home. That's where I go to in my head, and you know what ? It feels more real than this. Two months since, and this life we're living feels more like a dream every day.

"Admiral, I have to inform you. Regulations require-"

"Relax corporal. Spit it out." I hardly know most of these new security guys; I made damn sure I vetted them all right down to their great-grandmother's best friend's cousin, but I haven't had a chance to get to know them. They don't know me either. They look at me and what they see is the uniform. I hate that. I shouldn't even be wearing the damn thing still - I was supposed to be sitting on my deck in a straw hat giving Sam the benefit of my experience on how to make a straight dog-tooth wall .

"It's Dr Beckett, sir. This morning, when he passed through the scanner, he was carrying a loaded weapon sir. Concealed , sir."

"And?" I gave him a narrow-eyed look, to hide my own flinch. "You got a point ?"

Corporal Regulations looked confused . "He's a civilian, sir. He shouldn't be-"

"Son, Dr Beckett has a DOD clearance so high Al Gore doesn't have the right to ask him his name. He can carry a primed nuclear warhead in here under his coat if he wants to. And if he does, you can take it as read he has a damn good reason."

"Yes, sir." Suitably cowed. But not totally convinced. These new guys, they never knew the old Sam Beckett, the real Sam. The gentle man with a friendly grin for everyone. The guy they've seen scares them. And sometimes now, he scares me too.

As soon as Regulation s was out of sight, I took myself down the corridor to Sam's office. He was sitting behind the desk with his eyes fixed on the TV up in the comer of the room, still as a statue, not even blinking

He looks so different, it gives me a pain in my chest to look at him sometimes. After he hacked off his hair that night, he wouldn't let anyone touch it. God, that hurt. Hacked-off all patchy like that, it made him look like he was getting chemotherapy or something, like he was dying. Finally after a week he let me show him how to cut it with a barber's razor - Sam with a buzz-cut, hard to imagine. It didn't suit him, but he seemed to like it. Made him feel, I dunno, lean and mean maybe. Stronger. He's kept it that way, cuts it himself every week.

And he sure as hell looks lean now. He works out twice a day weights and circuits in teh Project fitness center in the morning, thene venings he goes down to this ratty martial-arts gym in Santa Fe. He's always done martial arts, but it was more of an exercise with him before, kinda spiritual. This place he goes to now is all kick-boxing, Thai boxing, all that full-body-contact crap. He doesn't like me to go down there with him, and I'm not arguing- I hate the place, it reminds me of the back-streets of Saigon. He doesn't just train there, he fights too. He's damn good, even favoring his right arm like he is now. The few times I've watched him his opponent didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell, never even got near Sam. My boy's so fast, and so smart - once upon a time I'd've gotten a real buzz outta watching him fight. But now it feels all wrong. And the fights scare him, scare him bad - I can see that. Yet he still goes, pretty much every night.

He's putting out so much energy, but he's not eating. Not properly anyway . I'd give anything just to see him dig into a bowl of popcorn the way he used to. I've tried everything - junk food, home-cooked Italian, every kind of restaurant you can name. He just eats like he's putting gas in a car, and halfthe time I know it's not staying down. He's wearing away. He's not skinny exactly, just looks like he's pared down to sinew and bone. He looks...dangerous. That's the only word for it. Take the scar - the scar on his neck from the garrote. He didn't wanna hear about getting corrective surgery on it like Beeks suggested, and I'd given him my word never to put him back inside a hospital - that means any hospital, any cold impersonal place where he can't have privacy. When he first came back to work he used to wear turtlenecks, but not any more now he's back to tee-shirts. Either he doesn't care if anyone sees it, or he wants them to. He carries it, like the man they couldn't hang.

And now guns. Sam never owned a pistol. The way he was talking after he was attacked, if I knew he had a gun I wouldn't've slept a minute in the past two months. Even now, knowing he's bought one, the sweat is running off my back.

"Sam." I approached the desk slowly, in case he really hadn't noticed I was there. "Sam, we need to talk."

"What is it, Al?" He was still looking at the TV.

"You think you could catch up on the junk-bond market later, huh?"

He pressed the mute on the remote . "What do we need to talk about?"

That's a big question, kid. There's been so much we haven't talked about this last month. We can't seem to make casual conversation, but we don't talk about the real problems either. I perched on the edge of his desk, dying a little inside when he automatically leaned back in his chair, away from me. It's great - he can kick the caramba outta strangers every night but he can't stand me anywhere near him. Ah God, I know it's not his fault - but it hurts.

"I just had a visit from some shave-tail in Security; he's worried about your gun."

I never thought Sam could grow a poker face. Every thought and emotion used to show in his eyes. Now, even I couldn't call him. His raised eyebrows just said So?

"Frankly, buddy - so am I." I tried to make contact through the poker mask. "Since when do you own a gun, Sam?"

"I bought it Saturday." He twisted around in his seat and fished the weapon out of his pocket, put it on the desk in front of him. It was a brand-new, businesslike .38 - looked like it still had packing-dust in the barrel. "What do you think?

I think I wanna be sick. Back in the hospital I told him to wait a couple months before he decided he was ready to die. Does this mean time's up? Is this his way to tell me he's not depending on me to do it anymore, he can handle it himself now? He's promised me again and again that he won't, but I can't look at this weapon he's bought and not see some serious intent in that.

I know how hard these past weeks have been for Sam, God knows I do. As soon as he got over the physical trauma he started refusing all of Beeks' medications - broke his appointment at the outpatients' clinic, walked out of every group therapy and counseling program she tried to set him up with. Now he won't even see her, even as a friend. He said he needed to be independent. If he was gonna survive, he told me, he had to do it on his own strength. Even I could tell how dumb that was, but at the same time I could hear my own voice when I came back from Nam. I know how it is when you've got so little left that just a sympathetic look from a stranger can break you. I figured my place in this was to support Sam whatever he wanted to do, so I stuck up for him to Beeks, told her we could handle it by ourselves. I know she thought I was just encouraging Sam along a bad road, but she knew better than to try and fight his stubbornness and mine combined. At least he was letting me stay, he wasn't closing out the entire world.

And in a way, he's made good progress. He's back at work, and working. He gets up each morning, goes to bed each night; he walks and he talks. But God, the effort it's taking him ! It never lets up. He's running with all his strength just to hold position, fighting to keep from falling apart. And I don't think he's getting anything out of it. So, he can pass himself off as Sam Beckett - have the record say he was raped and survived. So what? What does Sam have left? He can't let his hair down with any of his old friends, he can't let the one who loves him hold him when he's in agony - he's clinging to his work with desperation but he can't bring himself to commit to a new Project. I feel like I'm living with the nuclear clock, counting off the days and hours until he decides it's simply not worth the struggle.

"What do.I think?" I swallowed, picking up the gun. "Depends what you want to use it for. It's a solid anti-personnel weapon. Useless for duck-hunting. And it's loaded." I looked at those expressive eyes of his that now looked like they'd turned to glass, and asked him straight. "Why did you buy it, Sam?"

He stared back for a minute blankly, then he seemed to give a little, and shrugged. "I'm not gonna kill myself, Al. Not today, anyway. " He gave a little laugh that made me shudder. "It just. .. it makes me feel safer. I can't believe you need me to explain that to you."

Safer? Sweet Jesus - how can you be safe from something that's already happened?!"

"What I need is for you to think this through," I said gently. "It might make you feel safer, but what it's actually doing is putting you in danger. You're an okay shot with a rifle, but you dont' know how to use this thing. Anyone you draw it on is gonna shoot you or disarm you. And if that doesn't happen and you get to fire it - God knows what you're gonna hit. Or who." I had his attention, so I put it down on the desk. "Go on, show my how you'd hold it."

He picked it up in his right hand. His damaged wrist had mostly healed, but for shooting purposes he had a doozy of a droop and even a slight tremor. I looked at it until he lowered his eyes and looked too. With a sigh of frustration he slammed it down on the desk.

"Why don't you give me some training, then?" he snapped.

"I'm not gonna teach you how to shoot that thing!" I said, shocked. "No way. Never."

"Why not?" He sighed. "Look, if you're really afraid I'm gonna use it on myself, training's not gonna make a damn bit of difference. And it might just save the life of an innocent bystander."

"You are an innocent bystander, Sam. Keep it that way."

"Except I'm not a bystander, am I?" Anger and pain made his eyes dark. "I'm a victim. And if I'm ever gonna be able to walk down the street and hear footsteps behind me and not lose my mind, I need you to show me how to use this."

I looked at the gun lying there. I've lost count of the times I've dreamed I was standing in the shadows with a gun when that bastard came up behind Sam. That dream's been keeping me company these past two months, some days it's all that gets me through.

"How would you feel if you shot someone and they died?" I said quietly.

"It's not like I haven't killed before," he said flatly.

"I know, Sam. That's the point. Remember what it did to you, when you had to kill out there."I looked at him. "You're a healer. You're the guy who gives people their second chances. This is...it isn't for you."

"Fine." He snatched the gun and stuck it back in his jacket pocket. "I'm on my own then."

Damn, he knows just how to get to me, every time. Not that he means it deliberately. I was supposed to be the one he could always rely on; the one who'd go into Hell with him, no questions asked . Well, he's right - I am.

I sighed, and got up off the desk. "Okay Sam. Let's go." He looked up at me like he suspected a trick. "Right now?"

"Can you think of a better time?''

"No, no - now is fine." There was a flicker of real gratitude in his eyes that tore .my heart worse than anything. He stood up and shrugged on his jacket, the gun hanging in the pocket like a bag of pennies.

"First thing we gotta do..." I kept talking to stop myself from crying, "...is get you a holster. Lugging it around in your pocket like that, you're asking for trouble. You gotta wear it where it's a warning, not an advertisement."

We took the elevator down to Security, and I signed off for a shoulder-holster - figured if he could feel the gun close against his side it'd be more reassuring than in the small of his back like some guys wear them now.

Then I got them to open up the practice range. It's real basic, but they got all we need. We were getting some really strange looks from the duty officer, but there are some advantages to this uniform I'm still wearing.

One of the few good things about this bowling-alley, they don't have a smoke detector in there. I hung my jacket on a chair by the door and lit up a cigar. Sam was standing at the end of one of the long aisles, staring at the human-shaped target.

"Okay, let me see you take off the safety."

He fumbled it, using six movements where one would do. The natural thing was to take his hand and guide it through the correct action - I'd've done that with anyone. It was just another little thing to remind me what I can't do with Sam.

I held out my hand for the weapon, holding the cigar between my teeth and talking round it. "Watch me."

He watched intently as I flicked the safety on, off, on again. "It's like a Zippo, but much gentler. Everything you do with a gun has to be real smooth." I demonstrated a couple more times. "You gotta handle it with gentleness and. confidence." Like a woman. Before this happened, one of us would've added that line, him to mock me or me to get a rise out of him. Now, even that dumb crack was off limits.

He practiced a couple times and handed it back to me. Instinct more than my eyes told me the safety was off "Never pass it to anyone with the safety off," I heard myself say faintly.

"Why don't you just show me how to fire it, Al."

He was right, I was putting it off. I laid my cigar down carefully on the ledge and turned to face the target. "The idea is you hit what you aim at. That's not as simple as it sounds, trust me. It involves your whole body. You gotta be balanced, with the weapon in your center line. So, look - feet apart, arms center, both hands on the weapon." I showed him, then handed it over.

He was too rigid, he had his elbows locked and his feet too wide. Again I had to stop myself moving him into position , the way I would with anyone else.

"Move your feet in six inches, bend your knees," I told him. "And bend your elbows a little bit, or the kick's gonna shake the fillings outta your teeth ."

He did as he was told. I hit the switch to replace the man-shaped target with a concentric one. His shoulders relaxed a little - don't know if that was relief or disappointment , and I didn't want to know.

"Okay, squeeze off a few at the center of the target , just get the feel of it. Remember, squeeze that trigger gently, smoothly."

He started tightening his finger with the ear-guards still around his neck. How I didn't grab them and yank them over his ears I'll never know. Pretending I'm still a hologram has averted a few disasters, and this time it may've saved my life

"Sam!" Sharp, tone of command. Tone I only used with him a very few times in leaps when I really had to get his attention.

He jumped, and I felt sick. The moment of fear I gave him hurt worse than if he'd turned and shot me. His eyes narrowed, voice just steady. "What?"

"Ear-protectors." I tried to keep it stern, and keep my guilt out of my eyes - Sam doesn't need to be reminded that he still hits the deck every time a car backfires. I pointed at the protectors emphatically. "You wanna shred your eardrums?"

He edged down hi stance awkwardly; every muscle had gone rigid. I watched him scoop the yellow cans over his ears and checked they were settled . Nodded, and put mine in place. He turned back to the was all wrong. Eyes squinting, muscles fidgeting. Looked like he was focusing every ounce of strength he had onto his fingers and his eyes as he squeezed out the first shot. I didn't need to watch the target to know his shot went a mile wide. I was watching Sam instead. Part of his mind flew out with the bullet, I saw him shudder when it failed to make contact.

He looked at me like he was demanding an explanation. I just gave him a hand signal to try again. Next time, he hit the outer ring, and I saw the impact feed what was driving him. He fired again, missed, and the need grew.

He emptied the rest of the clip quickly, hitting the outer rings with his last three shots. When it clicked empty, his shoulders slumped. He held out the gun to me, and I could see the fine tremors going through him. Damn, I couldn't tell if this was doing him good or harm.

I held out my hand for the weapon and took off the ear-protectors. I ejected the spent clip but didn't reload it.

"We're not finished," Sam's voice had a raw edge.

"No, Sam. But this is a lesson, not a massacre. Look at your stance, it's all over the place. You had your eyes all screwed-up, and all your strength was going into your grip. You have to control the gun, and not let it control you. It's gotta feel like it's a part of you."

He nodded quickly, eager to have the thing back in his hands. He had listened, though. The next round all hit the target, and he watched where each one hit before he fired the next.

I brought up the human-shaped target, watching how he'd react to it. His mouth thinned, and the deep lines beside it got deeper. I can hardly remember what he used to look like smiling.

I held out my hand for the gun. "I'm gonna have to show you this. What you need to know is how to drop someone who's coming at you; not kill him, just make him fall over. You're aiming for the extremities - hands, feet, ass, shoulders." I demonstrated. "Course, if you're real fancy you can put one right by his ear, the sound'll knock him off his feet without even drawing blood. I nicked one past each ear of the target.

I could feel Sam a ching me. "You're really good at this," he murmured

In other circumstances I'd've got a kick out of that hero-worship tone. Not now. Now I had to fight like hell to stop myself saying 'Not good enough'. What's the sense of passing-off my guilt onto him? God knows he has enough to carry.

I reloaded the gun and passed it back to him. Picked up my cigar and lit it slowly while I watched Sam get ready to shoot something that looked like a man in cold blood. His eyes were slitted, concentrating or maybe remembering. The silhouette target was black and featureless like a shadow. Had he seen the shadow of his attacker on the lab wall in the split-second before the garrote went on? I'd never know, I could never ask him anything about that night.

He ignored everything I'd taught him, aimed right at the head, and emptied the whole clip into it as fast as he could squeeze 'em off.

I grabbed the cigar outta my mouth to stop it falling out. But when I got a good look at him, I choked back what I'd been going to yell. Sam wasn't with me anymore. He was shaking, still staring at the target, and he held out the gun to me to reload.

I reloaded it and handed it back.

I felt every shot as he emptied the second clip, every one pushing me closer to screaming. Half the shots were going wild, but enough were hitting. The thing was dead - it was dead.

The next time I reloaded I didn't want to give it back to him. I turned and fired it at my own target. I've been expert class with a handgun as long as I can remember - forty years. I can do the silver dollar trick. I can make a kill at a hundred paces in the dark. Why can't I take this bastard? Why can't I get him the hell away from Sam-

It wasn't till Sam stepped up and took the gun out of my hand that I realized how bad I'd lost it. The clip was empty, my ears were ringing, hands shaking, I couldn't pin down exactly where I was for a minute. Only that Sam was gently lifting the weapon out of my hands. Gently.

"Hey, Al - stop." His voice was gentle too, almost like I remember it before that fucker smashed his throat, smashed everything. "It's just a target. It's not ..." "I wish it was," I said raggedly.

I wanted to hear him say 'Me too'. I dunno why, I just wanted to hear him say it. But he didn't . Just looked at the targets regretfully, like he wasn't sure why we were here. But for a moment there he looked ...quiet, in control. The way he used to.

He loaded the live clip back into the gun and slid it carefully into the holster, then he shrugged into his jacket, checking how it hung over the holster. "Is it okay?" he said tentatively.

"It's fine," I said gruffly , snatching my own jacket from the chair-back I'd hung it on. I was still embarrassed, about losing control like that. And inside I was trembling. The sound of Sam's voice, sounding like he used to before, was tearing me up. I don't know if I felt hope - we've been in this hell so long now I'd given up thinking in terms of it ever really getting better. But now I was thinking, is it possible shooting-off the gun purged something out of his system? Or maybe seeing me go off the deep end somehow helped him get control? My head was spinning as we walked out into the corridor again.

We went right on down to the cafeteria to have lunch - by the time we got there Sam had tensed-up again. I'm glad he can't see the way he flinches everytime some passing stranger casually looks at him; but I know he feels it in his gut every single time. I know he has to fight to not hide himself away where no-one can look at him, like he has this huge brand on him telling the world what happened to him. He's trying so hard to get past this thing. I remember Sam, when he was leaping - always protesting that it wasn't fair he should be trapped in time. Now he doesn't do that anymore - it's almost like he thinks this is fair. Nothing that ever happened was less fair than this.

Today I wasn't any keener on eating than Sam ever is. Lunch is a penance Verbena imposed on the both of us, after Sam froze her out. Give her credit, she's never tried to kick the door down; she's pretty much left us to ourselves, except for insisting we eat lunch together everyday and call her regularly. Seems like a small price to pay most days, but today I felt like Sam probably feels every day - like forcing food down was gonna take more effort than I wanted to make. After making a fool out of myself in the practice range, I just wanted to curl up in a dark room preferably with a fresh bottle of Bushrnills and make the world go away for a while.

However, there we were in the cafeteria piling our trays with whatever happened to be there, sitting down together and talking about...whatever. Politics, the environment, the weather. I tried to get Sam started talking about the notes on instantaneous matter transmission that guy in Cambridge sent him; I know the government want him to take on that Project, and I wish he could get as caught-up in it as he was with time-travel - it isn't so far removed really, and we'd be using some of his trademark technology.

He played along, and we both shoveled the food down doggedly, and to tell the truth I was barely listening to him. I listened to the tone of his voice, watching for the light to come on in his eyes when he started running with the subject. But it never quite did. He was talking for my benefit, and I was listening for his benefit, and suddenly I was just so tired I couldn't stand it. I look around this familiar place with all our friends and colleagues here, and it's like the whole world died - it all looks the same as it used to, but it isn't the same, it's two-dimensional and hollow somehow, and the colors are all dull. I felt suddenly like I was two steps back from it all, watching from behind glass.  
"You okay?" Sam said soft, almost hesitantly.

I shook myself out of my funk. "Course I'm okay," I said a bit too quickly. I didn't mean to make him back off, I was just feeling too shaky right then to let down an inch.

He nodded, looking away. Then he was back onto matter-transmission, with if possible even less enthusiasm than he'd had before.

I sat and stared at him for a moment. I couldn't believe what I'd done. After all these weeks Sam finally forced himself to come out of his shell enough to reach out to me, and what did I do? Without even thinking, I pushed him away!

"Sam..." I interrupted him softly, desperate to get back the precious moment I'd wasted . "Maybe I'm not okay."

He looked at me with a flash of alarm, but a second later a cold wall came down in his eyes. Don't-try-to-manipulate-me, it said clearer than words .

We finished up the meal in silence, and went to our respective offices.

It turned into a long afternoon. I hope Sam was having a better time in his lab than I was - hope he was able to get lost in the work for awhile anyway. He's insisted on keeping the same lab, even sits at the same bench where he was sitting that night. It's a kind of defiance, I guess.

Truth is, I don't really have much work to do now that PQL has wrapped. A lot of the PQL scientists have gone on to other projects. The accelerator was dismantled and sold off to Stanford about a week after Sam was retrieved. We've got various visiting teams working here - that crew from MIT testing-out the imaging chamber and some nutbar from Cornell camping out in the synchrotron, and NASA's space cadets using Ziggy to project outcomes for every theory they can dream up. A lot of the time I feel like the manager of some zooped-up theme park for boffins. When Sam decides what he wants to work on next, maybe it'll all come together again, but right now he's just tinkering, looking at one project proposal after another. Never thought I'd live to see the day I'd be wanting to see Sam more wrapped up in his work instead of less.

Meantime, when I'm not filling out rotas and breaking up cat-fights between high strung eggheads, I've got a project of my own. One I haven't told Sam about. There's no way I'm gonna let him think about this until I know I can do it, and I don't know yet if it's a real hope or just the last gasp of desperation. I'm just making private inquiries, calling in a lifetime's worth of favors, trying to raise money any way I can. I've got a design to put Sam's time-machine back together - just the bare bones, just enough for one leap. One's all it'll take, just to put me a couple months in the past, just for five minutes. This thing that happened to Sam shouldn't have happened. If there ever was a wrong that needed putting right, that's it. I need half a billion bucks, and a few dedicated scientists willing to break the law with me.

So I stashed the paperwork, lit a fresh cigar, and settled in to make my latest round of private calls. I got a plan of campaign here, lists of names, how to sting em and how much for... I'm not halfway yet, but I'm not giving up.

I went by Sam's office on my way up to the parking-lot at six, but it was empty. Sat on the edge of his desk and used his phone to call his lab, but there was no answer. Figures, he's usually on his way downtown by now. After today, the way he looked at me in the practice range, I half-hoped he'd give the gym a miss tonight. Thought maybe now he has the gun he wouldn't feel like he needed all the combat stuff so much. Well I just hope he keeps that shiny-new gun of his out of sight of some of those hard cases down at the gym. Seems it's just gonna be an evening like all the others, after all.

It was cold outside as I went to my car, feels like winter cold for the first time. I'd forgotten how winter bites out here - spent my last few winters mostly underground. That hard bite in the air takes me back fifty years; ah God, nothing bites like a New York winter - out here is sweet and gentle compared to that. The cold of sleeping on a Brooklyn street at night stays with you, you never forget it; I used to joke that even space wasn't that cold. Sometimes these days I feel like my childhood is corning back to get me.

I swung by the church on my way home, usual practice. That takes me back too, the cold musty smell of a city church, all hushed inside with the traffic rumbling by outside the stained-glass windows. Don't ask me why I started dropping in here each evening; it just suddenly seemed I had nowhere else to go. I don't even know who I'm talking to when I kneel there imploring Something to give Sam a break - let me get the half bil, let this cup pass us by without we drink it, just let him stop hurting for a while... God? It doesn't mean anything to me. God was Sam's friend, not mine. But still I'm here on my knees. I got no resistance left.

It feels good to be out in the desert again. I always liked to have the big sky over me. Weird, really. Sam and me grew up in totally different places - me in the poolhalls and back-alleys of Brooklyn, him in wide-open farm country - but we both love this place, in all its moods and seasons. It would've been the perfect home for us.

The garage was empty as I pulled in; the space for Sam's truck will be empty for hours yet. I let myself into the empty house and started turning on the TV, playing-back the answering-machine, booting-up the computer to fetch my email - anything to banish that empty-house stillness. I walked around listening to CNN and a message from Sam's sister Katie while I loaded laundry into the dryer and set the dishwasher going.

Katie's getting pretty insistent about Sam going home for the holidays, and I can't imagine what she's gonna say to him when she sees him. Maybe she'll think the change in him is from the six years he was leaping, but I'm not sure - she's a woman, and she's got an uncanny sister-type instinct. What'll he do if she guesses? I wanna believe she'll be able to get through to him, offer him comfort - just to think of someone being able to wrap gentle arms around him and hold him, rock him softly and make him feel safe... Even though it can't be me, I just ache to think someone can. I wanna call her and ask her to get right down here. But I don't know if it's right for him. It's taken all his strength to stay on his feet if he lets down with her, would he ever get up there again?

I set the shower running and took off the damn uniform, dusting it off all neat and proper of course - habits of a lifetime. Beeks insists I get weighed every day, like a big bouncing baby! I swear that woman has a mothering problem. She makes us eat, checks our weight, makes us call home every night... Poor Verbena, she doesn't deserve me kvetching at her -we need her help, and we don't make it easy for her. She has more patience than I ever thought she would for two months she's stood back and looked after us from a distance, waiting till Sam feels strong enough to have her closer. Well hey, I gained a pound today, Mom - that oughtta please you. Thank God for Prozac; when did that become the national anthem? Beeks is right of course, I need to keep up my health for Sam. But sometimes it's so hard being the one who's whole, while he's... Ah, what's the use of those kind of thoughts?

Bathtime is always a problem. To touch or not to touch? Crude I know, but I got my libido with me till the day I die. The need is there, and it's not gonna go away all by itself. I soaped-up and closed my eyes, letting the hot water and steam soothe the aches away. Warm water and lots of suds and that old familiar rhythm oughtta keep it quiet. I soaped up and closed my eyes letting th ehot water and steam soothe the aches away, stroking the other tension up to a peak.

Except. .. I can't do this.

Damn. I could always do this. I remember in Hanoi, senior officers sent this order around the pipes, telling everyone we had to jerk off once a month 'to prevent loss of function' - Jeez, once a month! I was five years in the jug and weighed 90 pounds, and I was still gettin' my daily. But, I had Beth then. I could just close my eyes and be with her, it was easy. In six long years I never needed any other woman inside my head but her call that fidelity, but I just never wanted anyone else in there but her.

And now, every time I close my eyes there's Sam. I can't even think about wanting anyone but Sam. And I want him so damn much... I waited so long to love him, and even though my mind knows he's lost to me, how'm I supposed to explain it to my dick? Or my heart? God, he's so beautiful. Why did I never crave him like this before he leaped? How could I not? How could I have touched his shoulders, smelled his hair, looked at his lips and not ached the way I ache now? I want him so bad it's like an itch in my bones that makes me want to scream. Such a pressure inside ...

It felt like the shower suddenly ran cold, but I knew the cold was inside me, in my gut. I opened my eyes to banish the image, let the water run into them to wash it away. I scrubbed the soap into my skin roughly, punishing my wilting cock. How could I be thinking about him like that? Fantasizing about having sex with him just like I was doing that day when that bastard was raping him. All he's suffered because of that one brutal fuck, and here I am getting-off thinking about fucking him. It's like I'm the one standing there in the shadows behind him, wanting him madly . Wanting enough to- God no, I would never, never ... I'd cut off my die with the kitchen knife before I'd do anything to Sam. But how can he be sure? How can he ever be safe when I'm living in the same house with him, wanting him?

I stepped out of the shower weakly, my heart lurching, missing beat after beat till I couldn't catch my breath. I folded onto the toilet lid and buried my head in my hands. I have to stop wanting him, how can I stop wanting him? I don't want anyone else near me but Sam- I couldn't even get it up for a hooker if she (or he!) paid me. Sam is who I love, who I want. But I can't...

Suddenly an idea hit me. I've never been a big believer in drugs, and I sure as hell know the bromide or whatever it was they fed us on sea duty did nothing, but maybe it's worth embarrassing myself enough to at least ask Beeksie.

She picked up right away, expecting my regular call. "You're early, Al. Is Sam okay?"

I blurted it right out. "Can you give me something to... y'know, damp down my sex-drive?"

"Why?"

Trust a shrink. I don't have to answer that. "Just tell me, you got a potion that'll do it, or not?"

"Al, I can chemically castrate you if necessary," she said sourly, "But just tell me why you're asking."

Oh God . I felt like a little kid again, in confession . Your guardian angel knows what you did... "I told you I had...feelings for Sam. Well I still got 'em. And it has to stop."

I heard her sigh. "No - it doesn't have to stop. It's part of your love for him. What has to stop is your feeling guilty about it."

"Oh yeah, fine - terrific. Is that what you'd counsel that bastard who raped him too, if he was still alive?" Man, I never meant to say that - that was a low blow and I regretted it the minute it was out. "Ah, I'm sorry."

"What you're feeling is natural, Al . The loving desire, and the guilt. Sex is the life drive, the way people give themselves to each other - rape turned that good lifegiving thing into a weapon. Now you can't help hating it and fearing it."

I nodded, staring into space, my fingers going numb with clutching the phone too tight. She had it right. Never mind the flowery language, she understood. "Yes," I murmured. "I don't wanna let myself think about him that way."

"But you should. Make love to Sam in your mind, express your love for him there."

I closed my eyes and sagged back on the couch. "I can't." I was hog-tied every which way. "What're we doing yakkin' about me anyway? Sam came to work with a loaded gun today. Bought it Saturday - I didn't even know he had it. He wanted me to train him to use it."

I could hear she was shocked just by the way she was breathing, she didn't have to say a word. "And did you?"

"Yeah, I took him down to the practice range, showed him the basics. Let him get the feel of the thing. Way I figure, there's less chance he'll kill someone accidentally if he's familiar with it." I waited , defensively, for what she'd say.

"Al, do you think that was the right thing to do?" Damn, I hate when she does that, throws it back in that tone - reminds me of the nuns at the orphanage!

"It's what he wanted . He said it'd make him feel safer. So I figured, that's worth something."

She was quiet. This can't be easy for her, at long-distance. "How did he react to shooting the gun?"

Handled it better than me, I wanted to say. I felt like I should say something about the way I lost it back there, but we already spent way too much time yakking about me tonight. "It seemed to ease him, for a little while. Maybe ten minutes . He was more ... in controL"

"And he's carrying it everywhere?"

"Outside the house, yeah."

"I suppose it's okay," she sighed . "But I wish he could start to reach out, instead of building stronger barriers."

"Well," I said tiredly, noticing for the first time that it was starting to get dark, "It's like Reagan said, sometimes it's better to negotiate from a position of strength ."

"I guess so. These things take so long," she sighed. "Sometimes even I forget how long it takes."

"Kinda like climbing up the Grand Canyon with your feet tied together."

She laughed at that, slightly. Then she gave me the usual lecture - eat, rest, call her. Try not to feel guilty.

When she was done I got dressed, got myself a beer from the fridge and treated myself to a fresh cigar. Settled into the big leather swivel in my den and ran through my emaiLCouple of hopeful bites, couple of calls to make tonight, reckon I can earmark three hundred grand with these, maybe even a message from one of our Accelerator techs, interested in corning back - that's good.

I gripped the cigar between my teeth and dialed Tony Ansatz's number in that plush'n'sleazy tower he lives in in Toronto. I saved his brother's butt - twice - in the war. Now in my young days that'd be worth at least half a mil, but family feeling aint what it used to be.

I was so deep in trying to wring blood out of that fat stone, I didn't notice anything, Didn't even notice the huge slice of sky you cansee through the window of my denwas losing its light. I sure as hell didn't notice the sound of the Cherokee in the driveway or the front doot opeing. The sound of Sam's voice nearly made me drop the phone.

I swung round in the chair so fast I almost swiveled full-circle. How the hell was he home at this time? He never usually got home till ten, by which time I'd be finished my calls and have dinner almost ready.

He was standing in the doorway with the light behind him, just a silhousette with squared, angry shoulders. he still wore his shades from driving through the evening glare, so I couldn't see his eyes, but I could see the grim set of his chin. He was really angry.

"Al - what the hell are you doing?"

I looked at the phone, begging it to answer for me. Then without a word of explanation to Tony, I slammed it down. Goodbye half mil, "Just...chatting with an old buddy from the service." I winced at my own transparency. I've lied to admirals and presidents, but I've never been able to lie to Sam.

"You just slammed the phone down, Al. Is that any way to treat an old buddy?" he said sarcastically. "I heard you asking him for money."

Damn. I didn't want to tell Sam about my plan. Not yet, not until I knew it would work To give him that hope and then yank it away again, that'd kill us both. "It's nothing, Sam. Bit of old business. Boring stuff." I got up and tried to walk past him towards the kitchen. "How about some munchies, huh? Let's see what I can rustle up quick. Why are you home this early? The other guy faint when he saw who he was gonna fight?"

He wasn't gonna be distracted . And he wasn't getting out of my way either. Just stood in the doorway, hands at his sides, so I had to fall back or move him bodily. I fell back.

Now I was in the light I could see he hadn't been to the gym at all. He showers there, and I know the smell of the lye soap they use at that place. I started to panic. If he hadn't been there, where the hell had he been the last three hours? He didn't smell of booze, but. .. "Where have you been?" I demanded, much more harshly than I should.

He let out a long breath, and the rigidity went out of his shoulders. He leaned against the door-frame and folded his arms, looking out through my big picture-window at the desert fading into twilight. "I just went for a drive. Just.. .wanted to be somewhere quiet."

"Like for instance?"

He glanced at me, taking a quick breath . "I went to the mesa, Al."

My God. It's a remote mesa about forty miles south, in the reservation. It has a good vibe, I remember feeling it the first time he took me there twelve years ago. Maybe it had some ancient history, I don't know- I don't think anyone ever climbed it but Sam and me, in this century. It was Sam's thinking place before he leaped; he had a smooth rock on top of that mesa where he would sit and think through a knotty bit of theory or a personal problem or just meditate, for hours at a stretch. He hasn't been up there since he was retrieved, least not that he told me about. I was surprised he'd go all that way alone; but even more surprised he'd wanted to just sit and think for a couple of hours.

I didn't really know what to say. My gut told me this was good, that it was progress, but Sam seemed anything but happy. "Is it still the same?'' I said faintly, although I already knew - I went up there lots of times when he was leaping, just to get the feel of the place and remember . "They didn't put up picnic-tables while you were gone?"

"It's just the same. It's really a good place for... getting a big picture."

"Yeah?" I studied his pale face, clenched jaw. "So... what were you thinking about all this time? Deciding which project to take on next?"

Sam shook his head. Arms folded, eyes downcast. "No, not that. I've been thinking about you." He pushed his weight off the door-frame without looking at me and walked to my desk, sinking down in my swivel. He finally took off his sunglasses and sat staring out through the big window at the desert. The sun was gone but a little light was there still, turning the air sapphire-blue and making the mesas look like shadows. "Today in the practice-range, when you were shooting at the target, was the first time I really realized ...what this must've been like for you. In all the years I've known you, Al, I've never seen you look like that - as angry as that, or as helpless as you did right then." His hands were restlessly fidgeting with the things on my desk.

His long fingers came to rest on my day planner and he just let them lie in the cover, almost like he was caressing the thing. I hoped he wasn't gonna open it. I tore the page out, the one where I wrote his name over and over the night before I left Washington. It feels like forty years ago now not two months, like something I did when I was a kid and crazy in love for the very first time. And that's exactly how I felt that night; finally knowing I was in love with Sam made the whole dumb world seem new and beautiful. Sure I tore the page out but I don't want to have him wonder why that date is gone.

"It's not like I don't know, Al," he said very softly, his sensitive fingertips exploring every crease in the leather of the cover.

I was sorry he was sitting in the only chair in the room, because my knees were starting to feel like water. "Know what?"

"I know... you love me." He was only just audible, his eyes fixedly studying his fingers as they rubbed the cover of the planner. "I know what we lost."

I wonder if he really knows. Knows that I jerk off - try to jerk off thinking about him. God, how can he ever feel safe knowing that? Or if he knows how much I ache to just hold him, rock him in my arms until he sleeps. So much, I'm scared to fall asleep some nights in case I sleepwalk into his room.

"I'm sorry, Sam." It was all I could think of to say. "Sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Al." His voice was raw and strained, staring fixedly at his hand. "I'm sorry you have no sex-life anymore, sorry you have to hang around watching me hurt and screw up, sorry you don't even have a best friend now-" He broke off, and I could hear the shake in his breathing

"Sam, none ofthat matters. You're here, that's all I care about."

"No it isn't," he said bitterly, skimming his fingers over the keys of my PC. "I know who you were talking to, you know. Tell me you're not trying to reconstitute PQL."

It was pointless trying to deny it. I should've known better than to try to keep anything secret from that genius mind. "I spent six years watching you give strangers a second chance. It's not right that you don't get one. That's all I'm trying to do."

He nodded. "There's just one problem with that, Al. Even supposing you raised the money and somehow managed to persuade the government to let you try it - it wouldn't work."

"Why the hell not? Isn't this exactly what we used to do - leap back in time to put right something that wasn't supposed to happen?"

He propped his elbows on the desk and rested his brow on his fingertips . "Most of the time, yes. But sometimes there were things we couldn't change. I don't know how I know, Al, but I know this is one of those things that were meant to be."

"No, Sam!" I was so shocked I didn't know what else to say. "No. No."

"I think so," he breathed. "God, or Fate, had me in its hand . I did everything that was asked of me, and I never believed He would abandon me. Even when I was strapped into the electric chair I never believed He was gonna leave me there. And that night. .. in the lab, when I figured out what was happening, I still...didn't believe God would let it happen. Right when it was happening, I didn't believe He'd let it happen to me." He lifted his head and leaned back in my chair. "It happened anyway. He's not gonna let us change it now."He turned and looked at me, those clear hazel eyes full of despair in his thin, haunted face.

"You really think this is God's doing?" I demanded. "You think God would take a guy like you who has more good in him than anyone I ever met, and use him for six years and then instead of givin' him a reward would punish him for something that wasn't even his decision? Sam, that's not God. That's something else doing that, it's not God."

He wrapped his arms around himself like he was cold suddenly. "I don't even know if I believe in God, Al - I certainly don't believe in the Devil. I just feel so...alone."

I wondered what he would do, if I reached out and touched his shoulder. I could do it ever so gently, how much could it hurt? Then I thought of what was done to him, how his body would remind him. "You're not alone, Sam," I said quietly. "You still got me. Not much use, I know, but-"

"Oh Al!" He swiveled the chair towards me and before I could figure what he was at he'd grabbed me by my waist and pulled me close, burying his face against my chest. It wasn't gentle, it was damn rough, almost as rough as he might grab someone he was fighting at the gym. But I was so glad of it I wanted to cry.

I wanted so much to stroke his hair, pet his back, cradle him closer and soothe him. But something, some telepathy told me not to do it. I just expanded my chest against his face, trying to breathe my love into him. Trying to keep from breaking down and blubbing like a baby. Because let me tell you, the feel of his hands holding onto my back and his face pressed into my chest was the most beautiful feeling I ever experienced. He was warm and alive - I don't think I truly understood till that moment that he was really still Sam, still alive and real.

He didn't hang on for long, pulled away quickly and sat back in the chair, his face lost in the shadows as he swiveled to face the desk again.

"I'll go make us some dinner," I managed, and left him to recover in the quiet. I could still feel the rough grip of his arms around my waist, the warm pressure of his face on my chest. I treasured those sensations more than I would anything in the world.

SAM

Long after Al left me in the office, long after the sound of his footsteps faded and I heard the sounds of him in the kitchen making our dinner, I sat in that chair. Mostly, I wondered why I'd done that, touched him like that.

Was it because I was starving for touch; any human touch that might be loving?

Lately I'd felt so cold, so distant that the effort to maintain aloofness I'd thought were second nature. Being cold, making myself into this hard, protective image seemed to me to be the only things keeping me sane these past two months . That and...

Al in the morning, reading his paper to me, even though he had to know I didn't hear all the words. Somehow his voice took away the terrors of the night before with his sunny normalcy.

Al at lunch, just listening to me prattle, talk or simply remain silent.

Al this morning, this very morning, indulging me with this ...thing. This weapon. Even though the very effort of showing me how to fire the gun hurt him, cut him through to the bones and beyond, he did it. He did it because he loved me.

He loved me. I knew that now and it did neither of us any good.

That bastard had taken it all from us, our future, my mind, my love of life. Oh I'd cared a lot for the world, the people, until that night.

Slowly, I brought my fingers up and touched the scar that remained on my throat. It was a brand, a way of reminding me that there was an ugliness within that would never fade, like this garrote bum . Like the sickness that kept me from eating properly, or the hate that surged in me when I fought others at the gym.

That one man, Stokes. We'd fought-I'd played dirty and won. He'd said he'd kill me if he saw me on the street. It was a good thing that Al hadn't heard that or my rebuff. I'd never give the fucker a chance. I'd cut his throat if he touched me, watch him drown in his blood and not think twice about it.

Yeah, I could kill, Al. I think ...I could.

Absently, I went through the contents that covered the top of Al's desk. It was a mess, something that I couldn't stand to see. In past times I would have cleaned the top up. Al always told me I had full access to his desk. I doubted that had changed.

He'd been so careful not to change anything around me. To keep things ... normal.

I put letters in the in box, placed his day planner in the pocket of his briefcase where it belonged and then reached for a plain manila envelope. I held it, solid and flat, in my hand a moment before I slipped it open and stared at the contents.

Okay, so it had both of our names on it. And was dated from two months before. No postmark, as if it'd been delivered by our private courier. Yes.

Blueprints. I went through the neat stack and then felt my throat close for only the briefest of moments before I slid the prints back in the envelope.

A home. Not this box we lived in now but a real home. Perhaps Al had planned it as a surprise for when he told me... .

For when he told me that he wanted to be with me. Forever.

Well, I'd really fixed that one, hadn't I? Not only had I ruined his future, okay, our future, but I'd screwed up his one chance at a nice, normal life. Maybe the life he'd always dreamed about. Great, Sam. You fucked up Al's life by not defending yourself against that Jarhead.

Why didn't you fight him, Mr. Genius? Why did you let him stick it in you, let him feel you up and fuck you and choke the living shit out of you before he left you broke and bleeding on the floor? What sort of man are you, Sam? Huh? Well?

I covered my ears against the voice that constantly harangued me and ran for the bathroom before Al could know that I was upset. Hadn't I done enough to him?

For the first time in ages I didn't vomit. I ran a boiling hot shower, used the water to wash off the feeling for another five or ten minutes and then, dressed in pajamas and wrapped in a robe, I went back to the office.

I didn't notice Al standing in the doorway until he cleared his throat. "Got some good red snapper broilin'," he said, as if he were afraid I'd glare him down or tell him to leave. "If you're hungry."

"Starved." I looked at him, so strong, with all that hurt for me in his eyes. Why hadn't I noticed it before today? "What is this, Al?" I held the manila envelope out to him.

He looked stricken, as if I'd found out a secret he'd been hiding from me. "I...I hadn't bothered to look at it."

"It's a house," I said softly. Taking a deep breath, I knew I had to give Al this much. I owed him. And ...I did love him. "Al...it's a nice house." I didn't lift my head or meet his eyes. If he started crying I knew I wouldn 't be able to handle it.

"Yeah. Sort of a dream house, ki...Sam."

He hadn't called me kid for a long time. I missed it-but it only reminded me of how vulnerable I used to be. How that was used against me.

"This house ..." I took the envelope from him and set it back on the desk. "Do you think that after dinner we could...look it over?"

Oh God. I knew the moment the sun broke out on his face that rd done a 'right' thing. After months of doing 'wrong' things I'd said something to make Al happy, to make him smile.

"Yeah, Sam," he said, his eyes really bright. "I'd like that a lot."

For the first time in forever I was thinking of something besides my misery. I sipped the good wine that Al had poured for me, not thinking much about it. This one time, he'd said, it wouldn't hurt. Hadn't drank any alcohol in so long. It had a pleasant mellowing effect.

"See," Al was saying. "There's a deck here." He pointed at the blueprint as I leaned over to see what he was describing. "I see those fake redwood chaises and maybe a nice lounger. A table for barbecues and a BIG gas grill. With a side oven thingie."

"Expensive," I muttered, slipping my glasses over my nose so I could see better. I wore them rarely, only when I needed to see detail.

"We...I..." Al stammered and shrugged. "We're loaded," he said abruptly. "Between your patents and my retirement..."

That had slipped - I could tell by the look on Al's face when he said it. "You want to retire?"

"Someday," he said quietly. "What do you think about that, Sam? Me retired?"

I sat back and looked at my friend. Yes, he was still my dear friend, no matter how much I'd closed him off the past months. I very carefully let my guard down, just enough so I could see reality. What I saw shocked me.

Al looked tired and old. He had quite a few more lines on his face than I remembered and his hair was more salt than pepper. He'd never been well built and now he looked nearly as gaunt as I did.

"Sam? Sam!" He said my name firmly, enough to break me from my fugue. I'd had a habit lately of zoning out. Gooshie had been the only one who had caught me at it and had been alarmed but very careful not to comment on my problem.

"Al." I stared at him as I leaned my head on my hand . "Al, what have I done to you?"

"Nothing." He looked more confused than upset. "What the hell was that, Sam?"

"I was looking at you. And I zoned." I set my jaw and saw the light fade in his eyes. I was getting used to seeing that. "Sometimes I see you in your office staring into space," I said, trying to sound a little defensive. "What are you thinking about, Al?"

His face became distant. I'd managed to distract him from my zombie like state, his own mind going a mile a minute. Finally, his face went completely quiet, soft. I'd rarely seen that ; maybe the last time I had was during the Leap when I was a mommy to three children. One very special little girl named Teresa. His face had that quiet sweetness to around Katie's children, or so I remembered.

"You really wanna know?" he said. I nodded and waited. He eased his head back on the chair, looking up at the ceiling as he talked. "I think about a place where we live together." With a slight grin, he met my gaze and looked at me with understanding, love. It made me feel better somehow. "It's a nice place, Sam. A place where you'll never be hurt or in pain."

"Sounds like paradise," I said wryly . "It's not real, Al."

"It is to me." Al leaned over the table and tapped one finger against the blueprints that we'd spread out. "It's Home," he said reverently. "It's this place. Maybe I haven't seen these blueprints before but mentally ..." He sat back and almost sighed. "I know every solid inch of this house. I go through the rooms and try to think of you happy there, healthy." I almost could see the lump form in his throat as he cleared his voice. "Sometimes...I go there when I can't deal with reality anymore."

His words were like stones. This had to be the most personal conversation that we'd had in ages. Strangely enough I usually called it quits after he said my name, or had that look in his eyes. Maybe this morning at the firing range had scared me enough to make me want to listen to Al's hurts, the same way he'd listen to mine if I ever had the strength or nerve to tell them to him.

"I see you hammering, working." He blinked some of the brightness from his eyes. "But I've talked enough. Want some coffee?"

"No." I pushed up from the table and helped clear the blueprints from the surface, neatly folding them. "Are you serious about retiring, Al?"

He set some dishes in the washer and then leaned against the counter, not looking at me. "Yeah," he said finally. "I'd remain with the Project, I've been assured of that."

I felt angry but not betrayed . Al looked so tired, and I knew he was sick of the military bullshit, especially after what had happened to me. They'd covered it up. I'd even had to sign a waiver but Al didn't know that. I hoped.

"I'd stand by any decision you make," I said. It was the right thing to say. Al smiled soft.

"You're not pullin' my leg, are ya?"

"No. You can file papers tomorrow if you want, Al." I glanced back at the table and at the blueprints. "Can we build that place, Al?"

"The house. ..well ..."

"Al, I'm asking." Sighing, I went over to him and leaned against the counter. "I want a home. I want some peace." I looked down at my hands. I'd only lately started wearing the old ring that Dad had bought me when I graduated from High School. It reminded me of a time when someone was always there to take care of me, to love me without condition. I'd been blind to not see that coming from Al. "I want out of the project, Al ."

Well, I'd laid a thunderbolt. Al's eyes went wide and he had to sit down quickly. "Is this what you've been dwelling on, Sam? You want to quit?"

"I've done a little research," I said, sitting down across from him again. We never spent all that time around this table, like I'd done on the farm when I was a kid with Mom and Dad, Tom and Kate. "I could freelance for the government, Al. It would require about four to five hours work a week directly from a computer. They've already mentioned reworking the project, maybe converting the accelerator or turning the lab over to the space station researchers."

"You've been thinkin' about this a lot?"

"More than a lot," I said firmly. My voice was shaking, like it always did. "It's not what happened," I said. "I just can't think of doing anything in that place anymore. It's like I'm tapped ot, Al." I bowed my head. I felt so ashamed. "I'm letting all the peopple at the project down-Gooshie, Tina, the techs."

"They'll survive. Hell, they'll probably be able to get in on whatever takes over NASA, whatever." Al looked thoughtful "You want out for real, Sam? Is this the thing that might help?"

"It's one of them." I didn't elaborate and Al didn't ask for more from me. As I said, I was tapped out.

The conversation had exhausted me. It had been intense and more than I'd said to anyone for a long time. Al even looked sleepy.

I went in my gym and did a little workout while Al prepared for bed . When I was sure he was in his room, I went to my room and sat on the bed as I did every night, listening to the quiet.

See, I hadn't been able to sleep all that well since the attack. I was almost totally insomniac. If Beeks knew...well, I'd been tempted to snitch a few sleeping tabs from the project pharmacy. I didn't want to think what Beeks would do if she knew I couldn't sleep.

And Al didn't know. He slept, I thought, like the dead. As if it were an escape for him...or maybe he was taking something.

That thought made me check his bath, quietly. Sure enough a bottle of Prozac, prescribed by Beeks, and some very mild prescription sleeping tabs. I handled the bottle a moment and felt more like a heel than ever.

I'd caused this. From now on I would try to talk to Al, to put that light back in his beautiful eyes.

Yes, his eyes were beautiful and he loved me. And, damn it to hell, I loved him, too. The thought of all we'd lost made me almost weep.

I hadn't cried and had no intention of putting Al through that agony. Why give him more reason to take drugs to calm his nerves? Why make his life any more miserable than it was already.

I knew what would make him happy . That house. And I knew that we were going to build it.

A week later we were picking out property and hiring the construction company to lay out the foundation and begin building .

The ground work was being laid for another foundation, a new beginning. My life was due for a change-I was quitting the project and the government was totally accepting of the fact. They jumped at having me freelance and Al...

Al was retiring. He looked younger than he had in ages.

Not healthy,just happier. The house, retirement-it all agreed with him.

I was walking from my office to the parking lot when I almost crashed into her. She stood in the doorway as if to block me from leaving or simply to talk.

"What do you want, Dr. Beeks?" I flipped the keys in my hand, looking at her through my shades. I knew she hated that. Maybe she'd leave me alone. "I'm through for the day. "

"Sam...please. " She held up one hand as if asking for peace. "Look, I'm not into pipes or doing a war dance. Can we simply talk like we used to? Like friends?"

"You want to poke into my mind."

"I want to see if you're okay," she said honestly . "And you do look great. Better." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Okay, maybe not perfect. I hate the hair."

"It's efficient," I said bluntly. "You want to talk. Talk."

"Not here. Can I buy you dinner or lunch or...?" She smiled. It was a nice smile and definitely not clinical.

"I don't like eating out." I touched my throat a moment and saw her smile drop. "People tend to stare. The deck will do fine."

The crew had set up a recreation place outside where one could eat a lunch or simply soak in desert sun and feel that there was a place outside of the lab. I slumped in a chair and stared out over the silver/white dunes and waited. I knew this wouldn't be easy.

"Al told me you're quitting."

"Yes, so?" I stretched my shoulders to get the crimps out. Ziggy and I had talked a lot today. "I'm freelancing, working out of the house."

"Yes. You and Al are building a home." She started to say something and shook her head, smiling. "I knew about Al," she said. "I told him you'd probably want it, too."

"Well, we all know what happened." I felt my expression go hard . It hurt to think of what Al and I had lost. We'd hardly talked about it after that one night but it hung between us thickly, like cheesecloth soaked in oil. "And we know that won't happen now. You probably think it's unfair of me to do this to Al."

"Al wouldn't want to live without you, Sam. I know he loves you."

I dipped my head and pushed my left hand through what was left of my hair. Tom would love this haircut. "I love him, too," I said finally. "We'll...work it out."

"I know you will," she said. "Sam, would you come and talk to me sometime? Like this-as a friend."

I looked at her and didn't know what to say. I'd been so angry with her, pushing, always pushing when this had happened. I realized now that it wasn't so much pushing as it was the caring of a woman that loved me like Kate did.

"And Christmas is less than two weeks away." She smiled again. Really, I'd missed that. "Are you going home?"

I stared at the cement beneath my feet. Kate had been calling, asking for me to be with them for the holidays. Al had been covering for me. "No. That is, I don't think so."

"She'll know something happened, won't she?"

I shivered. It was getting cold and frankly, she was steering this conversation towards a place where I wasn't ready to go yet. "Bena, I'll call if I need to talk." Pushing up from the chair I stretched a little and set my face into hard lines. It ended a few conversations when people saw that. "I have to workout at the gym and then I have more martial arts later."

"Fine." She sat back adn returned my hard look. It was pretty scary reflected back at me like that. "Call me, Sam. I really do care."

"Just one thing." I took off my glasses and met her even gaze. "Why did Alask for the pills, Bena? Did he say?"

"You're calling me Bena again."

"And you're trying to distract me."

"I can't talk about a patient, even one that only asked for sleeping pills and something to keep his nerves even." She smiled sweetly, much to my annoyance. "you're going to be late for your workout."

Somehow she made me angry, furious in fact. I stalked past the guard, and drove off the base. Instead of the gym I went to Santa Fe, a lelluva drive but I didn't care. I never really minded it. Sometimes the only thing that kept me sane was this drive and hard rock pouring from the radio.

I did the workout and ended up in a shoving match with Stokes. The guy had no interest in anything but fighting and getting people hurt . Our instructor, Carl, had warned him more than once that he would be kicked out if he so much as smacked a kid again . There were more than a few teenagers that used the place as an escape from the neighborhood around us.

Carl and I 'escorted' the man from the place and I set to working out, mostly exercises to clear my head.

"You wanna partner?"

I almost fell on my butt when I saw Al standing there, gripping an unlit cigar and grinning at me. "Good work, Sam. Thought I'd join ya and take us both to dinner afterwards."

"Dinner?" I sat on the mat and stared at nothing a moment. "I'm not really hungry ..."

"Maybe we can talk about the house. The interior deco or maybe the pool. .."

I flinched and tried not to let him know I felt so angry I could scream. Somehow talking to Beeks had made me furious but it wasn't something I could verbalize. "Okay, okay," I said impatiently. "I'll meet you at Delvecchio's."

"Italian it is!" He sounded so pleased that some of the anger went with his words. "I'll see ya."

After I showered I said goodbye to Carl and headed for my truck. It was already dark, but this time of year the sun set a lot earlier than I was used to. Just as I got the keys out I was grabbed from behind.

This time...I didn't freeze, I just fought. Before I knew it I had the man on the ground and my side arm to his head, my thumb twitching on the safety. I flicked it down quickly and slammed him down before he could even try to get up.

"Never again," I said. My voice was more even than my spirit was. I laced one hand against his throat and then my vision cleared.

It was that stupid ass Stokes. He'd nearly gotten himself killed.

I eased the gun from his head and released him just as I sensed Al corning near me. It was the scent of his cigar and the panic I felt practically bleeding from him. Blind, I handed the gun to my friend and went to my truck. I sat in the cab until Al stood at the door, handing the keys to me.

"You wanna drive or should I?"

"What about your car?"

"It's fine. Carl said he'd keep an eye on it."

I took a deep breath. "I could have killed him."

"But you didn't." Al was itching to touch me, to comfort me. He didn't. "You scared the hell outta him. I doubt he'll be around here for a while. And you protected yourself, Sam. That's all that matters."

His words sunk inas I took the truck keys from his hand. My God. I'd defended myself, I'd not even hesitated. And...it has felt pretty damned good

"You follow."

Our dinner was silent. Okay, I really didn't have much to say. There was a lot going through my head as I picked at my seafood pasta and stared across at Al. The candlelight was picking up every bit of love from his eyes. He seemed so proud so happy for me.

"Al''

He took a swallow of wine and looked at me . "What, Sam?"

"Let's go home," I said. "Now."

We took doggy bags home and Al followed me close. I knew that both of us were so close, so tense about what had happened that something might break.

The house was so quiet. I went to the bath and Al glanced at me worriedly and went to his room.

After I'd changed I went to the patio and waited until At's room lights were off I felt. ..strong. Maybe so strong that I wouldn't be as afraid as I used to be.

I re-entered the house and carefully locked the patio doors before I went to my room. Just passing Al's I did what I always did-I looked in on him as he slept.

He was solidly out, head cradled on his arms like a little kid. And snoring softly. Not so loud that it cracked the eardrums.

For the first time, I took three steps inside and then...eased myself on the mattress. Careful not to touch him, I pulled some of the blankets over my shoulders and closed my eyes.

For the first night in three months, two weeks and four days I slept.

The alarm woke me with a start. It took me awhile to remember why I'd set the damn thing to wake me hours before dawn. Damn, I hate waking up with a muzzy head. Slowly the picture came into focus, and I relaxed back on the pillows, listening to hear if it had woken Sam. His deep, steady breathing was the only sound in the dark room - could've been the only sound in the entire desert, for all I cared. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.

The first night he crept into my bed after lights-out, I never even knew he was there. Not for certain. I sleep like I've just drunk my way through a 48-hour liberty, after one of those pills of Beeksie's. But that morning when I woke, something felt different. Sam was long up and gone, but somehow I felt...that he had been close to me. Only way I can describe it. I put it down to one of the dreams I keep having about him, but deep in my guts I knew it wasn't that. First time our eyes met that morning, I knew something was different. Sam looked rested, and there was a took of triumph in his eyes, like he'd taken a giant step forward.

A few nights later, circumstances conspired and opened my eyes. I'd taken the pill like every night, but the shrimp we got at that fancy place in Santa Fe didn't settle, and a half-hour after bedtime I lost the shrimp and the pill both. Didn't bother taking another one. So I was sleeping lightly, just drifting under the cloud-ceiling, and I heard my bedroom door edge open. Dunno what instinct said to me 'lie still', but I did it. Something about the way Sam crossed the room in the darkness - like he'd done this before, maybe a lotta times. He was quiet, but he didn't seem to think I'd wake. Just lifted up the covers at the bottom far corner of the bed and crawled in. Curled up on his side, he didn't take up much room. He's a tall, athletic guy - but curled up in a ball in his sweat suit and socks, with his face pillowed on his hand, he looked like a little kid. He slept like the kids I used to know living rough under the bridge - all drawn into themselves for the warmth, and the bit of safety we thought it gave us. I couldn't see his face in the dark, but I could hear the tension ease out of him as his breathing deepened and slowed, and in a few minutes he was aslee. I hardly dared breathe in case I woke him. Just lay there trying not to break down and cry. I don't know what it was made him feel safe enough to sleep there when he couldn't sleep in his own room - heard a story once of a guy coming home from Nam who had nightmares that wouldn't quit until one night his old dog came and lay on the foot of his bed, and he never had 'em again. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with me at all, just having another living thing close and sleeping. Whatever, I wasn't arguing. It felt so good, having him close, knowing he could trust me that much. I kept drifting down to sleep and waking myself, just to feel it again - it was like how Christmas morning is supposed to feel, multiplied a zillion times.

After that, I made sure I took the pills at night. I wanted him to have the security of knowing I was out for the full ten, so he didn't have to worry about a thing. And they worked, I never woke to hear Sam come in again. But I knew he was corning in, because his eyes were getting clearer day by day. And two days before Christmas, I woke up in the morning and there he was, still sleeping. I wasn't sure what to do, so I lay back and closed my eyes and pretended I'd slept in too. Waited to see if he'd panic when he came to and realized what time it was. I heard him wake, but no panic-buttons. He leaned up on one elbow and looked at me, daring me to open my eyes.

"I know you're awake, you know," he said softly. "There's a whole bunch of medical indications when someone is awake - pulse, depth of respiration, temperature, color..."

"Okay, okay, already - I'm awake." I cracked an eye open. Had he known I was awake the other night too?

He looked at me steadily, his eyes kinda resolute. "I'm in your bed, Al."

"Halfway in," I amended. "You gonna come all the way in? It's a big bed." I scooted over to the edge, showing him five feet of clear mattress.

Slowly, almost like he was having to force stiff muscles to move, he inched his butt up the bed and stretched out. I shoved a couple pillows his way and he pulled them in under his head, and gradually lay back and relaxed. There was three feet of bed between us, but we were lying side-by-side. After a long long pause, he turned his head on the pillow and looked at me. He had that same faint little gleam of triumph in his eyes he'd had after the first night he came in. It's like he's working to a plan, making himself take little steps forward all the time.

Next night, he came to bed with me. Still in a full sweat-suit, but he brought his own quilt in with him and lay full-length, wrapped up in that. Tell the truth, that suited me fine. It'd been bugging me all day that I might accidentally roll over and touch him in the night . The kind of dreams I have sometimes, it's a distinct possibility. But I took the pill in good time, and rolled myself up like a mummy in my own bedclothes, and I didn't move all night. Next morning there was Sam, still with me. He'd curled up into a tight fetal position during the night, but he was still fast asleep. He slept eight hours straight, and the good rest was making him stronger every day.

He kept up the workouts at home, even started doing some of that Tai Chi stuff out by the pool in the mornings - he looks like a spirit, moving all dreamy-slow with the cold mist hanging on the surface of the pool and swirlin' around him. But he's only been back to that gym in Santa Fe once a week after that incident with that asshole Stokes. Came back rolling his shoulder and made some crack about getting to old for that crowd - I knew he wasn't going back. That felt like a big step. He still wears the gun, but I get the feeling it's more like a good-luck talisman than a weapon - he just feels the one day he leave it home is gonna be the day something happens. Ever since the incident with Stokes, I've noticed he carries the clip separately.

Then we've had the holidays to get through. Katie was nagging the life outta him to spend Christmas with her, and he was trying to find the strength to do it - but he couldn't. It'd be too much, all the kids running around grabbing him and the parties and the mistletoe. I told him he couldn't go, took it out of his hands. He was relieved, but sick at himself for failing. So we made this arrangement that Kate would come here for New Years. Figured it'd be easier on Sam if it was on his own turf, and just her instead of the whole clan. But now the day has dawned, I'm wondering if this is the right thing to do. Is he ready for this?

I slid out of bed and took a quick shower. I was just toweling off in the bedroom and about to drop my robe, when I notieced Sam had his eyes open, watching me. Usually, he takes a big interest in the desert outside the window while I'm climbing into my clothes, but this morning I could see him in the mirror, hand behind his head, watching me like a hawk. Maybe just because it was too dark to look out the window?

I kept it business as usual, just carried on getting dressed. His face was pretty blank, like he was miles away in some reverie of his own - he was looking at me but chances are it wasn't me he was seeing. Round about when I was tucking my shirt into my pants, he seemed to catch himself and looked away pronto.

"Is it safe to fly?" he said quickly, looking out the dark window. "Is the ah...the weather okay?"

I took a quick look out the window. The sky was like crystal, I could see clear to the Sea of Tranquillity. "Never seen a better one. Sure you don't wanna come along for the ride?"

"No, I better stay here. I should get a few things ready for them Still have to make up Nicky's bed."

I knew he was thinking that I was thinking he might not be here when I got back. Sam's been making strides these past few weeks, but tehre are times when it feels hollow, like it's a big act we're playing. And I'm not kidding myself what a biggie this visit is for him - it's the first time he's seen anyone from his family since he leaped home, and as if that wastn't enough, he hasn't told Kate what happened ot him, not even a hint. If I was him at htis moment, I think I'd be giving serious consideration to just camoosing into th edester till Kate goes home again.

"They coudl take ascheduled flight, Al," he was saying, talking to cover-up th snerves I could hear in his voice. "You don't need to chauffeur them," he said anziously.

I wondered if he really was scared something was gonna happen to me. Shrugging my jacket on, I took a minute to sit down on my side of the bed and look at him. "You want me to tell them it's not a good time?"

Maybe I was cruel putting the temptation in his way. But it has to be his decision, or he won't have a prayer of getting through it.

He sighed, and set his jaw. "If not now, when?"

"That's a good answer, kid." I smiled at him. "But is it what you really want?"

He suddenly looked so sad and lonely I wanted to look away. "I want to see my sister, Al. I'm not really home, until I've seen my family."

I nodded, trying not to think about what an occasion for celebration this should've been."We'll get into Santa Fe around two o'clock - I'll call if we're gonna be late." I grinned, to cheer myself up as much as Sam. "Nicky's gonna love the flight. It's so clear he'll be able to see the snowmen in all the backyards!"

That got a small grin, but it didn't touch the sadness in his eyes or the pallor of his face. "I don't know him, Al," he reminded me. Kate's son was born the Christmas before Sam first leaped, and Sam only saw him once; he seemed like a perfect baby then. "What's he gonna think about an uncle who never even bothered to visit?"

"Sam," I said with certainty, "Nicky's autistic. Y'know, he's got his own special way of lookin' at the world. He's gonna love you - the two of you got a lot in common."

He smiled, a little trace of a sparkle in his eye. "Go on, Al. You're gonna miss your take-off window."

I sighed, long-suffering. "That's a slot, Sam. Not a window." Then I patted the bed a few inches from his leg. That's become our code, by some kinda silent agreement - I don't touch him, I touch somewhere near him.

On the way to the airfield, I called my buddy at the precinct house in Santa Fe. Just making double-sure that Stokes was spending the holiday season nice and cozy behind bars; I'm not leaving town without hearing that from someone I can trust. I wonder if that little fucker knows how lucky he is to be living to see this new year? It's a miracle Sam didn't kill him that night, and another miracle that I didn't kill him after Sam left. I wanted to, more than I'd admit even to Verbena. Some nights I still wake up sweating with my hands clenched around his scrawny throat. It keeps going round and round in my head: why did we stop, and Sam's attacker didn't?

It felt good to fly. Better than good . The sky was blue as a bird's egg as I nosed her over the silver lining, and it went on forever. This is my road; it's my road and my home. When I'm airborne I don't care if I live or die. It's the only time in my life I'm not thinking about Sam. It's just me and the sky.

Katie and the kid loved the flight back. I sat Nicky up in front with me, and this kid is fearless - he'd lean right out the window if I'd let him. He wasn't bouncing-around excited like a normal kid would be, he was staring down studying it all I knew what he was looking at. Gave him a wipe-off board to draw on, and sure enough it's the patterns of the criss-crossing roads and field boundaries he comes up with.

"You're great with him, Al," Kate told me for the zillionth time. She gets more and more like Sam as the years go by, those clear hazel eyes that tell you exactly what they mean . I can see she's scared of seeing Sam again. As much as I've tried to reassure her, she's bright and she knows me too damn well to be fooled.

She knows where he's been. I couldn't conscience keeping Sam's family in the dark when half of Washington knew, and fuck regulations. So I briefed Bonnie three years ago when he transferred to the capital, trusted him to look out for his family. I never regretted it. When Sam's mom died, God rest her soul, at least she knew why her son couldn't be there with her, and she knew he was a hero. Katie doesn't know anything about what happened after Sam came home, and it's not for me to tell her if Sam doesn't want her told.

It was afternoon by the time we were turning off the desert road onto the switchback that leads to my condo, and for a long moment my mouth went dry, expecting to find the place dark and deserted. When I saw the lights from the front windows shining out, I coulda sung for joy. Sam had even lit the fairy-lights on the Christmas tree outside the front door. Damn, he's braving it out for all he's worth.

There was better to come. As I pulled the car into park, the front door opened and there stood Sam. Grinning like a loon, dressed in jeans and a new Arran turtleneck sweater, looking like a million bucks and holding his arms wide for his sister. She bolted out of the car and ran to him, and he wrapped those long arms around her tight and rocked her gently, his eyes closed tight as he laid his cheek on her hair. I was so proud I coulda cried. Woulda done, if it hadn't been for Nicky. He was still strapped-in in the passenger seat, just looking at me with his big gray eyes. Sometimes he looks a hell of a lot like Sam when Sam's off in quantum-physics-land. Reminded me more than ever of Sam now, looking at me from behind that glass wall of his.

"Hey Nick. Wanna meet Sam?"

He looked past me skeptically. Sam and Kate were walking towards us side-by side. The minute the man's eyes met the boy's, I knew they'd connected.

The settling-in period went like a dream, better than I could've hoped. Sam and Nick seemed to be joined at the hip from the moment they met, spent all evening in Sam's study playing games on the PC and buillding models. Kate and I fixed dinner, talking about the new house. I saw how Kate tensed-up when dinner time came around, obviously that's a time she has trouble with Nick, but tonight he was good as gold, cleaned his plate. Come to think of it, so did Sam.

After dinner we played some board-games. Sam was playing along with Nick and studying him closely, and Kate was sitting back on the couch nursing her eggnog and watching Sam. I could see she was puzzled, looking at the changes in him, noticing the way he was using Nick as a shield to keep from having to talk to her. But like I said, she's bright, and compassionate too - just like her brother. Sh wasn't going to push him.

Nick was ready for an astronaut-story after Kate put him to bed. That's one thing with this kid - you can tell him the same story over and over and he enjoys it just as much as he did the first time. Remembers every little detail too - tellya, his memory's a lot better than mine! I tried suggesting he should tell me the story this time, but that didn't wash. He knows what he wants, and he's got his world running pretty smoothly. For now anyway. Kate's done a real good job with him - he's healthy, look in his eyes and you can see he's not scared, he's got as much peace as God's ever gonna allow him in this life. Being with him, I can't help remembering Trudy. Can't help feeling the difference between the deal Nick's got and what she had.

When I came back into the living room from putting Nick to spee, the silence hit me likea truck. Sam was sitting with his elbows on his knees, staring down at a couple pieces from the board-game in his hands, though he wasn't seeing them. Kate was staring at the Christmas-tree; she looked ten years older than the rosy-cheeked woman I picked up this morning. She looked to me as I came through the door, and I could see the worry eating at her.

I sat down on the arm of Sam's chair, hoping that would be enough to bring him out of his zone-out or whatever it was. He startled, blinked and looked up at me - for a moment there I don't think he even recognized me. I resisted the instinct to stand up and give him space; that woulda looked even weirder to Kate, so I just stood - or rather sat - my ground and gave him a steady look till he was grounded again. Then I went and made coffee for us all, keeping an ear open for the Silence descending again.

It didn't - in fact they didn't stop talking for the next three hours . I figured it was progress, so I leaned back in my armchair and let myself catch a few zee's. It had been a hell of a long day, and an anxious one too.

When I jumped awake, they were still at it. Jawing a mile-a-minute about people they used to know back in Elk Ridge, about Jim's daily run-ins with the brass hats in Washington, about Nicky's school. I blinked at the clock. 1:30 a.m. Three straight hours!But something wasn't quite right here - their faces were animated enough, but they both looked exhausted, specially Sam. His eyes were glazed. I don't know if he was even hearing the stream of small-talk that was coming out of his mouth.

I stretched and stood up. It was like I'd rung the bell; they both shut up at the same instant. "Sorry, kids," I said, "I've been up since 4 a.m. gotta get some sack-time in. See ya in the morning."

Sam jumped to his feet. His face still had that brightness, but his voice sounded panicked. "Wait, Al - you can't... Can't go to bed without a walk first."

"A walk?" Kate laughed, "At this time of night?"

"Ah...yeah," Sam assured her, staring into my eyes to get his message across. "We always go out for a walk before we tum in. It's good, for sleeping - fresh air is very good for promoting healthy sleep."

"Yeah, we do that," I played along, seeing as he was so desperate about it. "Blows the day's cares away. Gives me a chance to smoke my last cigar of the day in peace too."

Kate sighed. I'm pretty sure she didn't buy it, but her voice was gentle anyway. "Dad used to do that," she mused. "Remember, Sam? Last thing at night, he'd walk around the yard checking all the barns were locked, and the cows were bedded down. Looking up at the stars, having a quiet smoke." She sighed again, stood up and stretched for effect . "Okay you guys. Enjoy your walk - I'm going to bed." She walked up to Sam and stood on tippy-toes to kiss him on the end of his nose, one gentle hand on his shoulder to steady herself It looked so cute and loving, it broke my heart . And Sam tried to grin back at her - I could all but see every muscle in his body screaming at him to run away, but he held his position, even put his hand on her shoulder. It cost him so much effort, I sure hope she was convinced.

I had to trot at the double to catch up to Sam as he strode out along the switchback, ice crackling under his boots loud enough to wake the dead. Clouds of breath hung in the air behind him; he was breathing deep and heavy, and I could hear the shake in it. This happy little evening had cost him, big-time.

"Hey, buddy," I panted when I finally caught up to him, "You trying to break the land-speed record here? Have a little mercy on shorter legs, huh?"

Sam grunted and slowed down a fraction.

"It's a little cold for strollin' in the starlight," I commented, when we were pretty much level.

His face in the darkness was pale and strained, eyes all glittery and fixed. "You don't need to come, Al," he said shortly. "If you're cold, you should go back."

"Nah, I'm fine," I said, crunching along beside him now. "It's bracing."

To my surprise he gave a little laugh at that. "Bracing?" He slowed his pace and turned his head to look at me, "Al, I can hear your teeth chattering."

I gave him a grin back, glad he seemed to have burned-off some of the strain. "Teeth need exercise too." I gave him a shadow-shove onwards. "Keep moving, Sam, or Kate's gonna find a couple of ice-sculptures out here in the morning."

Mentioning Kate wasn't such a good idea. He glanced back at the house, then continued on more slowly, his head down, hands in his pockets. "I can't do it, Al," he muttered low, ashamed of the weary admission. "I thought I could, but I can't."

"I thought the two of you looked like you were gettin' along good," I tried to reassure him.

"You really think so?" he said acidly, "Al, we were talking to each other like strangers."

"Well, Sam - y'know, seven years is a long time. It's gotta take a while for you two to open up to each other again."

"That's the point though, isn't it." He picked up his pace again, getting angry all over again. "I can't open up to her. What can I show her, Al? Huh?" He gave me a brief glare in the darkness.

I shrugged helplessly. "You have to just...try and be yourself She's your sister, she just wants to know that you're..." I was gonna say 'that you're okay', but that wasn't right. "That you're still the brother she knows."

He hugged himself, walking faster. I don't know if he even heard me. "If I open up to her, even just a little bit, she's gonna see it all. I've got nothing to show her but pain, Al. Pain and fear and..." He shook his head, plowing along the starlit road.

I was fighting to catch my breath and keep up with his pace. "Would it be... such a bad idea...if she saw that?"

"I don't know. I don't know. But I can't- I don't want her to see, Al. I don't want her to know." He came to a dead stop on the icy road, so sudden I nearly skidded and landed on my butt. Sam was standing staring back at the house, just a misty blur of lights in the deep frost. I could just make out the little points of color of the lights on the Christmas tree. "I can't tell her," he went on, like he was talking six ways around a doozy of a physics problem. "And if I can't tell her, I can't...give her anything of myself. And she's gonna know, Al. There's no way I can hide the fact that I'm shutting her out. It's gonna hurt her." He closed his eyes for a long moment, his face creased-up with pain . "It's dumb but...I really envy Nicky."

"Sounds dumb all right," I said, shivering now we were standing still. "That poor kid's got no future to look forward to, Sam."

"I know, Al. I know, but..." He shrugged.

I knew what he meant. "He's safe behind his walls."

"Yeah." He breathed out a long sigh, glad to have been understood . "Y'know, when I was growing up I loved Simon and Garfunkel. There's this one song, that I keep hearing now. 'I am a rock, I am an island'."

I took my hands out of my sheepskin gloves just long enough to light a cigar, swallowing down the painful lump in my throat. '"A rock feels no pain'," I quoted quietly.

He made a sound that could've been an angry little laugh, but sounded pretty close to tears too. "Guess what, Al - that part's not true." He tilted his head back and looked up at the stars, like he was searching up there for answers. "This hurts," he admitted. "It hurts that I can't tell her. I don't mean, about... I mean about us. You know? It's the most important thing that's ever happened to me, not to mention the best. I want to tell her."

I didn't know what the hell to say - which is okay I guess because I couldn't have spoken if my life hung on it. He was still staring up at the stars, hands in his pockets, like he was talking to God not to me. I didn't even know exactly what he meant, what 'happened'? But I thought I knew- my heart thought it heard what it wanted to hear. He fell in love with me...

He suddenly seemed to realize what he'd said. A slow, gentle smile spread over his face, right up to his beautiful eyes, and he looked right at me. Suddenly in the freezing desert was warmer than Southern California. Right then I felt like anything could happen. The whole nightmare could just melt away, and he could lean in and kiss me with a kiss as gentle as that smile. For a moment I really felt it was gonna happen - he looked so alive, so Sam again.

But then he turned away and headed back for the house, and I was left staring at cold empty desert.

For a minute, I felt like staying there. Just laying down and droppin' off the sleep with that picture in my mind, and those words of Sam's echoing in my head. Suddenly I didn't feel like I had any juice left to get back in this fight. But, a minute is just a minute, and I heard Sam's footsteps slow up a bit, waiting for me to follow him.

Kate was in bed when we got in, everything was quiet and peaceful. No sound at all from Sam's room where she and Nick were sleeping. I made a cup of tea to warm Sam up, but instead of drinking it in the kitchen he made for my den.

"You're not gonna work now?" I followed him, puzzled .

He looked self-conscious. "No, I thought I'd just sleep in here tonight. There's plenty of room on your couch."

I thought he was worried about Kate finding us both in my bed in the morning. "There's no need for that, Sam. It's no big deal, us bunkin' together while your room is occupied - she's not gonna think anything about that."

He shook his head, almost irritably . "You don't understand. I told you..." He clammed up, jaw like a steel trap.

Told me what? That he wants Katie to know about us? The cold must've frozen my brain, because I couldn't understand this. And - bottom line I was too damn tired to argue the point with him. That look he gave me out in the desert had left me feeling hollow and edgy, and I needed a leave-of-absence from my own body right now. "I'll get you some blankets."

Sam followed me into my bedroom, and stood in the doorway watching while I rolled-up his quilt off the bed and fetched a clean sheet from the closet. He didn't say a word as I handed the bundle over to him, just gave me a sad little nod and disappeared into the den with it.

I felt frozen to the bone, lying in that big bed without Sam. Haven't felt this cold since I was naked and starved in the jungle . It was too late to take a pill, and anyway what was the point- Sam wasn't there. I closed my eyes and went back to that moment in the desert. I'm a lousy ungrateful son of a bitch. Sam gave me the precious gift of saying those words out loud, and God alone knows what it cost him to do that - but I'm still not satisfied. In fact, I feel like my heart is dying inside me.

Don't know what woke me. I just suddenly felt warm again. I rolled over and there he was, curled up at the bottom of the bed the way he was the first time he slept in here.

"Sam?" It was selfish to wake him, but I was still half-convinced I was dreaming. He raised his head and I could see he hadn't been sleeping. "I shouldn't be here," he said bluntly. "I saw the look in your eyes out there, Al."

I flinched away from that. "Ah, Sam - I'm sorry."

He leaned up on his elbow. "You shouldn't be. You shouldn't have to feel like you need to apologize for wanting to express love. Here I am in your bed, throwing it in your face what you - what we can't have. It makes me feel like a... like a tease, Al."

I almost laughed. It was ridiculous, nothing could be further from Sam than teasing. But I knew why he said the word with so much loathing, and it twisted my gut to hear it.

"Kid," I said sincerely, "All I want is to have you near me."

He looked at me awhile, and then he seemed to accept that it was true, cause he laid down again and settled in for sleep. And it is true. Maybe it wasn't true for a moment there out in the desert, but deep down it was, and always will be. If Sam never spoke to me again I'd still stay by him, and be glad just to be close.

That night I had a beautiful dream, about Sam and me. It took up where the look he gave me out in the desert had left off He went ahead and kissed me, and - somehow it suddenly was Southern California, or someplace warm and sandy anyway - and we laid down together and kissed and caressed and made love to each other for hours and hours. I've never experienced sex like it- it was so slow and so tender, like whispering. And he was so beautiful, the feel of him under my hands and the smell of him filled me up till I was ready to pass out from it. It was everything I could've wanted, that dream. It was like a gift.

And, naturally, I woke up all wet. But thank God I was still in my own side of the bed, and Sam was sleeping peacefully. I knew I should get up and hit the shower before Sam woke, but the dream was calling me too strong, and I drifted back to sleep again.

Next thing I knew, was a knock on the door. In background I could hear Nicky making like an express-train. "Are you guys awake yet?" Kate pushed open the door and put her head round before I had a chance to answer.

Those clear hazel eyes took in me, and Sam, and the rumpled bedclothes, and that elegant Beckett nose took one quick sniff of the air - and she had the whole story. Or thought she did. Gotta hand it to her - that is one cool dame. "What do you want for breakfast?" is all she said.

I coulda said tacos and cheese for all I know. All I could think about was Sam's anxious eyes as he woke up and pulled the bedclothes around himself. He still had his sweatsuit and socks on; if it hadn't been for me and my wet-dreams she probably wouln't've suspected anything.

"Sam... God, I'm sorry," I muttered as soon as she closed the door again. I was so mad at myself I couldn't look at him.

"Stop apologizing, Al," he snapped, and without anything more he got out of bed and disappeared into the shower.

It turned out to be one of those days that start out lousy and get worse. Nick stuck to his uncle like a lamprey all morning, first playing ball out in the yard and then messing around on Sam's PC. Kate had a long soak in the tub, I guess enjoying the break from non-stop Nick-duty. Obviously she took the time to do some serious thinking too, though, because while I was chopping-up veggies for lunch she strolled into the kitchen with a look I know only too well.

I-got-questions-and-you're-gonna-give-me-answers, it said. I haven't been married five times for nothing; my heart sank right down to my boots when I saw that look.

"Can I help?" she said sweetly.

I handed her a chopping-board and a bag of ripe tomatoes, making a big effort to meet her eyes and give her a casual grin. Didn't feel like it came off too well. She chopped thoughtfully for a few minutes, then the movements of the knife slowed and I knew countdown had begun . "Sam's been in prison for six years, hasn't he?"

It's a damn good thing I wasn't the one slicing the tomatoes; I coulda lost three fingers over that one. "Wha-?"

"In prison," she said calmly, her eyes serious and full of concern. "That's where he's really been these past six years."

"No! Where the hell'd you get that?" I said reflexively. "I told you where he's been, Kate. He was part of an experiment in time-travel that went-"

"'Went a little ca-ca'," she repeated , "Yes, I know. When Jim told me that part of the message, I knew it really was from you - up till then I thought it was one of his jokes . But when I heard that, I believed it. I've believed it for six years, Al . Mom died believing it." She looked at me shrewdly with those no-nonsense Beckett eyes. "But now I've seen Sam, I don't believe it any more."

That look didn't even leave me room to squirm. "Why not?" I said plainly.

She shrugged one shoulder - too much like her brother for comfort . "The way he looks - his hair, his whole body, there's something...I dunno, brutalized about him. He looks like he's lived on half rations and kept himself sane by working-out all day. And the way he acts- he's withdrawn, he tenses-up when I touch him. And he's gay." She fixed me like a poor old trout on a hook. "Last time I saw my brother, he wasn't gay."

I swallowed. She shoulda been a lawyer. "He's been through a hell of a lot," I told her truthfully . "Think about it. Six years of living other people's lives - and trust me, some of them had lives you wouldn't wanna live. He's been in all kinds of situations. He was in prison, a couple times in fact - four if you count bein' thrown in the brig for - well, never mind. And for your information, he has been gay, too."

Her face was a perfect G-M-A-F-B.

I couldn't hold back a laugh. "My God, you think I would make up a loony-tunes story like this just to cover up the fact that Sam's been doing six-to-ten in Sing Sing?"

"I don't know what to think," she said, suddenly looking at me with helpless, desperate eyes, so like Sam's. "I don't know what he's done. But I know that something's happened to him that isn't covered by any experiment going 'ca-ca'. I nursed Tom through post-traumatic stress after the war, and this isn't the same. What Sam reminds me of right now is m-" Her eyes changed color - could be the winter light through the kitchen window, or else the penny suddenly dropped . "But he's with you," she murmured, looking the spitting image of Sam when he's chewing on a physics problem that won't quit, "And you would never hurt him. Would you?"

"No," I told her firmly, gesturing with a wooden spoon, "And I don't know what theory you're cookin' up in that noggin of yours, but don't get carried away with it. Sam is-"

The sound of Sam's voice, shouting in panic from the den, froze the blood in my veins. I dropped the spoon, forgot all about Kate, and high-tailed it in there so fast I was falling over my feet. My eyes insisted on locating Sam first. He was standing with his back to the desk, like he'd just stood up from the PC. His eyes were wide, face pale as death, but I couldn't see any blood on him, no injuries. I followed the line of his unblinking gaze - and there was Sam's brand-new gun in Nicky's hands. Nick wasn't waving it around playing cowboys, not him - he was studying how it worked. There's nothing mechanical that clever closed-in mind of his can't figure out in a few seconds. He had this down, was just flicking the safety on and off for interest's sake.

I didn't need to ask if it was loaded, Sam's white face told me that. Great- when he takes it out he unloads, but he leaves the clip in at home! Sam was so froze, I don't think he could even speak.

Kate stepped round me, her voice rising in fear. "Nicky, give that to Mommie. C'mon..."

I put out a hand to hold her back. Kid wasn't listening anyway, much too absorbed with his new find. The trick needed here, was confidence. I just leaned down and took the gun away from him, no arguments. He tried to hang on to it, but I'm stronger than him - it's a simple as that, and Nick understood. He gave it up and sat there staring at me, like I'd sold him down the river. The look in his eyes reminded me of how the neighborhood folks used to say retarded kids are old souls who've lived before.

"What in the hell is this?" Kate grabbed the gun out of my hand, ejected the clip like a pro and waved it in Sam's face. "How did he get this?"

Sam's knees buckled and he sat down heavy in the chair. His voice sounded faint and faraway. "I...we were playing a game. I was setting-up a...pattem code for Nick and he-" He rubbed his face with a shaking hand, staring at his sister like he expected her to pistol-whip him, "I guess he musta got bored and f- and found the gun."

"And what the hell are you doing with a loaded gun in your home?" she yelled, her fear and worry all coming out in anger. "You never fired a handgun in your life - or is that something else you picked-up in your 'time-traveling'? God, Sam, what did you do?Did you murder someone?"

Sam's eyes sought mine, full of mute confusion and pain. I wanted to explain to him that his sister thought he'd been banged up in the past six years, but Nicky kinda had my attention - he was rocking back and forward where he sat on the carpet, miming what he'd been doing with the gun like he still had it in his hands, and making this weird moanng sound inhis chest that was growing fast into a roar.

"Kate," I said quickly, tugging her arm and nodding towards Nick, "We got a little bit of a hissy-fit goin' here."

She tore her eyes from Sam, who stood up and fled the scene like a horse out of a trap. My eyes tracked him all the way to the bathroom, then I had to tum back and help Katie with Nick, who'd started drumming his heels on the floor when she tried to lift him. "Help me, Al - get him into the bedroom." She got her hands under his arms and I grabbed his feet. He squirmed like a fish, and let out an earsplitting yell that didn't let up even for breaths. God, he's only seven but it took both of us all our strength to get him across the hall and onto Kate's bed. Reminded me of Trudie then, when she'd make up her mind she wasn't doing something, all the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't shift her.

"There you go, Humpty," I said, sitting down on the edge of the bed, trying to hold him still while Kate rummaged in her purse.

She came back with a little inhaler, and shooed me outta there. I didn't give her any argument - I needed to know what was happening with Sam, but bad.

A second of listening outside the bathroom door told me the answer to that. Sam was doing something he hasn't done in quite a few weeks now - barfing like he was trying to puke up a lung. The sound of it brought back the early days to me, when he couldn't manage to keep down half his meals, and tried so hard to hide it from me so's I wouldn't worry. Well I did worry, and the tight feeling in my own guts reminded me how much. And I was sure as hell worried now.

Cursing myself for ever letting this visit go ahead when I knew he wasn't ready for it, I went into the kitchen and started automatically clearing-away the lunch preparations, trying not to listen to Nicky wailing in the other room - we wouldn't be sitting down to any cozy family meal today, that's for sure. When that was done I just made a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, lost for what to do next. Thought about calling Beeksie - she left me her number at her brother's in case we needed her over the holidays. Thought about going to try and help Kate with Nick, but the noise was easing-off, seemed like Mom was the best medicine right now. Thought about going to check on Sam, but I knew he'd prefer to be alone and sort himself out. So I wound up smoking a whole cigar through, and drinking two more cups of coffee. I hated feeling idle and indecisive, but I couldn't seem to light a fire under myself for any money.

I got up to pour the fourth coffee, and found the damn pot was empty . I was ready to pitch it right through the window, it made me so mad . Took me all my strength to stop shaking long enough to fill the stupid thing with water and start it perking again. I still felt like growling when I turned back to fetch cigar number two from the table.

And there was Sam, standing in the doorway - when he did he start creeping around the place like a damn ninja? I jumped right out of my skin, did a double somersault, and plopped back in there with a swarm of ants for company. "Dammit Sam, you nearly killed me!" I snapped, then bit my tongue good and hard.

He looked exhausted . His hair was wet from the shower and dark, and it made his face look gaunt. He'd pulled on a pair of old sweatpants and a warm fleece shirt - the shirt didn't cover his scar, and the thing looked red and ugly against the pallor of his skin. His eye were dull and haunted, and his voice was just as impersonal as it'd been weeks ago; I'd forgotten how much it hurt to hear Sam's voice without any warmth in it.

"It's caffeine and nicotine that'll kill you Al, not me." He didn't even seem upset, just walked to the fridge and took out a bottle ofEvian, turned to leave again. Seemed to have decided to pretend the whole incident with the gun never happened.

"Where are you going?" My voice came out high and edgy. I sounded- and felt -like I was losing control. I had to close the distance between me and the Prozac bottle PDQ. But I'd been keeping myself on an even keel for so long, suddenly I couldn't remember how. "Sam! Where the hell do you think you're going?" I yelled at him.

He froze at the door, one hand on the handle, and turned back to look at me. He was scowling, shocked . And his eyes - his eyes had so much fury in them. I suddenly understood the phrase 'If looks could kill'. But his voice was level and cool as can be. "I'm going to work on a program I've been thinking about. I came up with some ideas, working with Nick this morning. I think I may be able to create a simulation that'll help him to circumvent some ofhis limitations."

"Don't waste your time," said Kate's tired voice from behind him.

Now it was Sam's tum to jump. He flinched away from her and backed up almost to the wall before he could catch himself

Kate frowned, noticing. Noticing Sam's scar too . But she didn't comment, just came into the room and dumped her armload of towels in the washer. "He's sleeping, he'll be fine."

"I don't mean just today," Sam explained, "I mean permanently. See, the problemwith Nick's thought-processes is they're like closed systems - he doesn't have the cross referencing he needs-"

I winced as Kate straightened up to face him . "The problem with Nick is his brain is wired-up wrong," she said flatly.

In full defense mode, Sam got that talking-to-idiots look on his face. "Kate - I agree the basic problem is probably genetic. But the human brain grows by establishing patterns, right? Nick is learning to do things, but he's not learning how to link up to the significance of what he's doing - if you think about it, it's exactly the same problem you get with a hybrid computer when the pickups aren't in synch-"

I looked from brother to sister, my own nerves jumping. Sam had taken a couple steps towards her while he got into his explanation, hands held out in front of him to gesture the way he always does. I thought comparing little Nicky to a computer was gonna be like throwing a lit match on parched brush . But Katie surprised me, she saw right through Sam.

"Sam," she said gently, sitting down at the table and accepting the cup of fresh coffee I poured her, "Just face it, okay? This is something you can't fix. The kid got a shitty break before he was even born . It's nobody's fault . And we love him, just the way he is."

I dound myself nodding emphaitically, though I wasn't really sure why.

Sam's lips thinned and his face got evenpaler. He didn't seem like he could etar his eyes from hers. Suddenly he looked like a ten-year-old genius kid, certain he was right and not up to arguing with the wisdom of the world. "You sound exactly like Mom," he muttered grudgingly.

Kate grinned. "I know. It used to make me so mad, when I'd hear her voice coming outta my mouth. But now that she's gone, I'm kinda glad there's something of her still around."

A muscle inSam's pale cheek twitched. I thought he might make a run for it then. Maybe it would be best if he did - I got the feeling Kate meant to get him to talk, and I wasn't at all sure he had any defenses against her once she started up in earnest. God, I wished I could pull Beeks out of a lamp like a genie! We needed her now.

"I wish Mom was here now," Kat sighed, like she'd picked up my own worries. "She'd know what to say to you." She looked at Sam sadly. "Then again, maybe she wulnd't know as much as me."

Sam looked trapped. I could see the battle he was fighting with himself. Every second that he didn't run was taking a heavy toll on him.

"You remember Chuck?" From her voice and her eyes, she was not just remmtscing. "You think it stopped with the fists in my face and shoving me down the stairs? It didn't stop there, Sam. He raped me..." Her voice rasped just a little bit, and I could feel the effort she was putting into making herself do this. "He raped me night after night."

Sam was staring at her in shock. He made a little instinctive move towards her, his gentle hand reaching out. "Why'd you never tell me?" he whispered.

She shrugged. "I never told anyone, only Jim. Never even told Morn."

"But why, Kate?" He sat down at the table, his hand still trying to reach out to her. "We could've - I could ..." Suddenly his own pain rushed in and swamped what he was feeling for her. His hand clenched into a fist on the table.

"I was sick at myself with shame, Sam - I married the bastard, ran away from home with him, then I couldn't even protect myself from him. You think I wanted to come on home like a whipped whore and admit all just so you could have the satisfaction of killing him? If anyone was gonna have that satisfaction, it was gonna be me!" She let out a long, shaky sigh, and took a long drink out of her coffee. "But I never had the guts. Not like you."

Hey, she's good. She left it open, so he didn't have to pick up her meaning if he didn't want to. He frowned, staring at his own clenched fist. It got tighter, veins all knotted and gray under the pale skin. He didn't run, but he couldn't cover the final distance under his own steam.

"That's what happened, isn't it?" she said at last, gently. "Someone raped you, and you killed him? That's why you were in prison?"

Another long, agonized silence. Sam's frown got deeper. Muscles in his jaw and the side of his neck were working so hard I was getting scared he'd go into a seizure.

"Sam?" Kate was worried too, scared she'd pushed him too hard. She reached out to touch his fist, but I put a hand on her arm to stop her.

"It's okay," I said, not sounding too convinced myself, "He zones out sometimes, he'll come back."

She looked up at me, looking for confirmation of her guesses, but before I could decide what to say Sam uncurled his fist. He stood up, and I thought for a minute he was gonna run after all, but then his eyes finally focused. He looked like the past few minutes had aged him ten years. Even his voice was older, deeper. "No," he said simply. "Someone raped me, and I didn't kill him. I didn't even-" He stopped. His face was nothing but pain, too much of it to look at, and his lips pressed together against the scream that wanted out.

Kate made a little sound in her throat - I don't know what it was, like someone crooning to a little baby . She got up without any hesitation and stood in front of him, cupped his face between her hands. "You didn't what? Didn't fight? Sam, you couldn't!"

He stared at her bleakly from behind that glass wall of his, but he didn't pull away from her. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do." She gripped his face tighter, almost shaking him. "You think it's different for me, because I'm a woman so I'm not strong enough to fight? Maybe, 'cause I married the fucker you think I didn't really mind it? Jesus, Sam- I've said worse to myself. Maybe I provoked him, led him on, tormented him? I didn't have anyone to tell me how it really was, and you know what, big brother? I figured it out all by myself- just by looking in my own heart and soul, like Dad taught us. I know that I'm innocent."

"You are," Sam whispered. I could hear real, natural tears in his voice for the first time since this Hell began. The minute she mentioned their Dad. Sam's hand came up slow and trembling, and touched her shoulder. Really touching, so that even from where I was standing I could see the warmth and the emotion that passed through that touch. The cool, clear winter light caught that ring of his Dad's that Sam always wears now, like the old guy's ghost was wanting to be there with them. "You are innocent, Katie."

"And so are you," she whispered, tears running down her face too now. She leaned her head against his shoulder and he drew her close. Real gentle, hugging her to his heart. Then he rested his chin on her hair and looked right at me, his eyes brimming over with tears and emotions. Yeah, and love too. Mostly for Katie, but some for me too.

I gave him a smile and a nod; it was all I could manage just then. I was weak at the knees with happiness that he'd been able to open up to Kate and find some comfort. And yet a part of me - the raw, wired, caffeine-soaked treacherous part - was screaming 'cause I wasn't the one in his arms. I had to leave them then, had to find a place to hide from this selfish heel I'm turning into.

I left them in the kitchen and went into Kate's room, creeping so as not to wake Nick. He'd cried himself into a deep sleep, so I just sat myself down cross-legged on the floor beside his bed, listening to his little snuffles and mutterings, patting his shoulder if he seemed like waking. There were a few of his storybooks lying around on the floor, so I picked up one of those to read.

'The Velveteen Rabbit'. My God, I remember this from when I was a kid! I musta told this story to Trudie fifty years ago. I had to grin when I got to the part where the velveteen rabbit wants to know how you become real. An old toy horse explains it to him. 'It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby...' First time I read that I musta been eight years old, and all shiny new! Now the description fits me to a tee. Even the part about only becoming Real when somebody really really loves you - loving Sam made me alive, it's that simple. I wouldn't be any damn thing at all if it wasn't for him. I stared at the drawing of the little sick child hugging his velveteen rabbit, and thought about Sam holding his sister close and starting to heal at last. And I think I probably cried myself to sleep too, because that's the last I remember of that afternoon.

Later, Sam drove us all out to the new house. It's just a bunch of string lines staked out in the frozen ground right now, but it's still the best house I've ever seen. Sam actually strolled around the place with his arm around Kate, describing to her what it's gonna look like. He's always had this great gift of seeing things before they're there. Looking at the two of them, holding each other close, I could see they'd found something strong, something that was gonna help t,hem both to heal. So I took Nicky up to where the snow's still lying and taught him how to make a snow angel - he really took to it, got a bit of an artist inside of him, I think. And he laughed because everyone else was happy.

I was dead tired when we turned in that night, and I forgot to take the sleeping pill. How could I forget? I don't know - I was a mess inside; too many strong emotions for one day. But I dropped off anyway, and when I woke up it was almost dawn - just that dead-quiet stillness in the air that marks out the last watch of the night. I lay waiting to sink under the surface again, and then I felt it. Sam's hand was resting on my hip. We'd fallen asleep the way we usually do, him facing my back, both rolled-up like little Eskimo babies in our blankets, but now Sam was spooned almost against my back, and his hand was resting on my hip. I could feel his breath gusting softly against my neck - slow, regular, sleepy breaths. I held my own breath, wondering what to do. I couldn't hitch any further onto my side without falling out of bed, and I didn't want to scare him awake by pushing him off. Hell, I didn't want to push him off at all. The touch of his warm hand just lying on my hip was like a piece of Heaven come to earth.

Funny thing is, it didn't turn me on. Not sexually anyway. I was always afraid my dick would leap to attention the instant Sam touched me even if we were both fast asleep. But this time, no. The touch went right to my spirit, reassuring me, telling me to have faith and patience. It was pure comfort, like a prayer answered, with no urgency or hunger in it at all. I let the feel of it fill me up till I couldn't feel anything else, and I dropped off to sleep again.

SAM

If the truth be told, I wasn't looking forward to Kate's visit until it was over and sorry that she and Nick had to leave. The big decision was whether or not I'd go with them to the airport. Kate had insisted on taking a commercial flight home. Maybe she saw the weariness in Al's eyes, the ache he showed every single time he walked or moved. It tore me up knowing it was my fault he was so tired.

The best thing that had come out of Kate's visit was that she had managed to do what Al and Beeks had not. Forcing a promise of any kind out of me, especially this one, had been nearly impossible until she came along. Kate had a way, just like Mom, to make me do things that were good for me. On my soul I'd vowed to contact Beeks and take our project psychiatrist up on her offer of private therapy. Not necessarily with her, but possibly with a doctor of her acquaintance that was more familiar with what I needed.

More than anything I wanted a normal relationship with Al. This 'bundling' that we were doing was actually beginning to wear me down. The term 'bundling' had come up when I had tried to explain to my sister what exactly I was doing in Al's bed. It was an old custom, she'd said, in colonial times for a young man and woman who were contemplating marriage to, with the parents permission, sleep together with their clothing or just underwear on. It was a test to see if they could actually spend a lifetime together. Face it, my sister, even when I told her about my relationship, would always be what she had made her vocation. A teacher. I always thought that had to be at least one reason that God had given her and Jim, Nicky. She knew how to take care of special children in a way a non teacher would not. It just so happened that I was a broken child, at least in Kate's optruon.

The past few days, after we'd had a real talk about what had happened between her and Chuck, me and ... Well, we talked. It seemed that we had a lot in common and she'd been through what I was presently experiencing. I remembered Mom writing me when I was in school, obtaining my medical degree, that Kate had divorced Chuck, that she wasn't the same girl that had married him, and that she was more than certain that she'd been more than beaten by him. I never realized what she was saying until this past weekend when Kate and I had talked. Oh, I missed my mother. Kate was absolutely right in more than one respect, but especially in one. Mom had known me in a way no one else had, could talk to me about nearly anything. She was my confidant, my best friend, even with Al in my life.

The ride home from the airport was done in silence. I drove, insisted on it. Al looked...sick. The past few days, when I'd been so occupied with talking to Kate he'd been with Nick, playing with him, bonding. That little boy loved Al; you could see it in both of their eyes. Nick had looked lost when we'd said our good-byes, his silent gaze directed not at me or his mother, but at Al. Wordlessly, he'd handed Al a worn copy of 'The Velveteen Rabbit'. I saw the tears in Al's eyes as he kissed Nick, hugging him close. "You're being quiet," I said, glancing over at my friend. He rolled his shoulders as if shrugging. "It's going to be better," I said, turning onto the road that eventually led to Al's condo. "I promise you, Al. Things are going to change."

A light filled his face as I spoke. Al always believed, even when I didn't, that I'd survive. "You're a good kid," he said softly, rubbing his eyes. Leaning back in the seat, he almost closed his eyes. "That Nicky." He still had the book, fingers coasting over the worn cover. "He wore me thin but I'm gonna miss the little bugger."

"Did you hear what I just said to you?" He nodded. "You're not saying anything about it?"

"You'll be fine when you're fine," he said calmly. A yawn and he stretched a little in the seat. "Damn it, kid, what do ya want me to say?" He rolled his head over and stared at me with so much love in his eyes. It wasn't lust-love and patience. "You're gonna get there a move at a time, a minute, maybe, at a time." His beautiful eyes closed, snuggling into the seat that held him. I could only wish it was me. "I think I'll catch forty winks if ya don't mind," he muttered. He was gone.

It gave me time to think, that last sixty miles or so. It was a ways from Albuquerque to Al's condo. I drove on autopilot, a trip I'd taken more than I could count. So much was jumbled in my head. When I'd asked Al this morning when Beeks' was coming home his face had lit up like a light was under his skin, lamps in his eyes. Hope. I couldn't let him down.

Two nights ago I'd made a step, a baby step to be sure, but something. I'd reached out and rested my hand on Al's body, touching him and feeling at peace about it for the first time since I'd been attacked. Al hadn't mentioned it and I almost wondered if he knew. Maybe tonight I'd trying the next step and...

Even thinking about holding him made me shaky. I gripped the steering wheel and tried not to think about anything but what I'd tell Beeks.

When we got home I ordered Al to take a hot bath and maybe a nap. In fact, he seemed surprised as he well should have been. It was the first time I'd asserted myself that much since we'd moved in together. I wanted to call Beeks and told Al as much. The one thing I appreciated from Al above all else was his respect of my privacy. That strange understanding that we had; we needed no words. Each evening when he had called Beeks I'd avoided the kitchen, where he phoned her from. Except one time I'd never heard a word that passed between them. Except one time.

The phone rang about three times before Beeks answered. It would be the first time we'd spoke since I'd told her to stop bothering me. My words had been a little more biting than that and I didn't exactly expect a warm reception now.

"Hello, Al."

"This is Sam, Verbena." The sudden intake of breath from her end spoke volumes. "I'm...taking you up on your offer if it's still open."

"You want to speak to Dr. Williams-or, as he prefers, Dr. Stan?"

"And you." I gripped the phone. To my surprise my hands were sweating. "My sister...Kate...we talked, Bena. I want this."

"Did you have a good visit?" It was no surprise that she sounded like she was walking on eggs here, even if I'd made the first move. "Al told me she and her son were visiting."

"It was good," I said. "She and Al...he's been so good through all this. I don't know what I'd do without him and I have no idea what I'd have done if Kate hadn't talked to me like she did."

"Sam, you have to want this." The hesitancy was still there, like she was uncertain if I was telling a fib or really sincere. "It's going to be painful and it's going to bring it all up again."

I almost laughed and would have if my throat wasn't so tight. This was taking a great deal out of me. "Isn't that what you want me to do?"

"Only if you feel ready, Sam." Silence, from her and me a moment. "Look, I've been through this, for things that happened a long time ago, when I was a kid. It's the reason that I went to Columbia and became a psychiatrist, Sam. Every night, after the sessions, I was angry, furious in fact, as if all the dirt was being dredged up with each encounter with my therapist."

"But when the dirt settled..."

"It was like being bathed in rainwater ."

"I'm certain that I want this...now," I said. "And you should know that I'm doing this for my sanity, Verbena. Mine. Al is hurting..." I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall by the phone, clutching the receiver against my cheek. I felt a jerk in my throat, emotional maybe. A pang. "I want to be with him," I said haltingly. "There's nothing more that I want than to be normal with him, Bena. Do you understand?"

"I do. This will be so good for you, Sam." There was so much pleasure in her voice. I'd made her happy. "I'd like to talk to you before I get you an appointment with Dr. Stan. He's going to want to know your case, know what happened. Can I do that, Sam?

I gave her my acquiescence, and agreed we'd talk here the next afternoon.

Something in me settled, slowed. Sitting at the small table I stared at nothing, my mind a blank. Sometimes those empty moments, where my thought processes took a rest, were the most relaxing times I had. By and by, I was aware of Al near, filling the coffee pot with water. I caught myself before I nagged at his intake.

If the hot bath or his short nap in the truck had done any good it wasn't evident. Sad to say, I felt just as tired as Al looked. Asserting myself for any good was exhausting.

"Wanna cup?" he asked, as the pot perked. "Fresh."

My gut ached at the very idea. "We should talk," I began . "Sit with me, Al."

"If you're gonna tell me you're getting therapy it's good, Sam." Al looked as if he absolutely itched to touch me. I was growing used to the glow in his eyes, the longing for me to reach out to him. "Beeksie...she'll do ya good. I've been...talking to her."

"It won't be easy." I toyed with a rolled up blueprint that we kept on a shelf by the table. The house we wanted to build was always present, either physically with blueprints or as a topic of conversation that was safe. "I just..." Biting my lip, I took the blueprint and rolled it out before me. "I don't want to hurt you any more than I have."

His smile was small, loving. He sat back in the chair and gazed shortly out the window before meeting my eyes. His brown ones were bloodshot, face lined. I'd put every wrinkle there, I knew. "Kid, I've told you once, I'll tell ya again. All I want is you near me." His expression was all seriousness, as if we were on a leap and he had something very important to tell me. His hand tapped only inches from mine, a fraction. It was his sign to me that he respected what Iwas going through. "You could never hurt me, Sam. Not any more than what you've been through."

Our hands were only inches apart. It would take so little for me to touch him in the light of day, here, in our home. Ifelt a sort of electricity between us, an intensity. Our eyes met across the table asItouched the very tips of his fingers and then pushed away.

Shivering, I went to the window staring at the world beyond our condo. Some kids were bicycling, regardless of the cold, the ice that almost covered the hard earth. Turning, I saw that Al was folded over the table, his arms pillowing his head. He wasn't asleep; he was hurting. Somehow that infuriated me. I was more angry at myself than Al. He was so worn out, tired of carrying this whole damned load.

"I have to go out," I said briefly, going to the closet and pulling out a jacket. "I just have to, Al. Sorry."

"Yeah," he said, head lifting. His eyes were dry or I'd have probably felt rotten as hell. "We both need space, right?"

"Gonna go look at the house," I said. "Back by dinner." I hesitated by the table, and touched his chair only a moment. "I promise, Al. No more running off like I did before."

His smile was tiny and nearly pleased. "I trust you, Sam." His head lifted and the light was back in his eyes. "Like always."

Something new had been added to our house lot since our visit with Kate and Nick. Heavy equipment. They'd promised to dig the foundation within the week. I sat down on a backhoe and looked over our domain.

The property was, simply put, splendid. We had this outrageous view that I had insisted on; a desert panorama. From where our living room window would be we'd see clear to Albuquerque. Our bedroom would be towards the west so the morning sun would never wake us. Once Al retired he would learn to sleep in, whether he liked it or not.

When I was well, and that would happen, I finally felt, I would take good care of my Al. He would never feel tired like this, never feel the weight of sorrow. Pulling my coat around me against a sudden cold wind, I looked up at the gray sky and felt like I was praying the vows I made to Al. I would make every single day of his life a celebration and make up for all the pain I and others had inflicted on him.

We'd travel to Europe, once I could manage it. Visit Kate and her family in Hawaii. Go to Indiana and be with Tom, get used to that. But later.

It was almost dark when I pulled into the driveway. The kitchen light was on and I could just make out Al talking on the phone. I sat in the truck and idled it until he hung up. It didn't take a quantum physicist to know that he was talking to Beeks and probably appreciated his privacy.

"I kept stuff warm for you," Al said, setting a plate of his version of meatloaf and spaghetti. Meatloaf for Al was like a huge Italian meatball and his sauce... Sometimes it was the only thing I felt like eating. "I had some earlier. Got hungry, I guess."

Most of the meal went down and I even managed a glass of wine. Al watched me anxiously. "It's good," I said. Sitting back in the chair I placed my napkin on the plate and met that concerned gaze. "Did Bena tell you I'm visiting with her tomorrow?"

"It wasn't Beeks, although I called her earlier, and, yeah, she mentioned we'd be graced with her presence around two tomorrow." He rolled his eyes. "Kate was on the phone when you pulled up. I told her you'd call later. She and Nicky made it home fine and on time."

Something took over in me. I just couldn't stand seeing Al so beat up for another minute. "Look, that's great, Al." Taking my plate, I set it in the sink. "I'm going to work for a while. Just a few things I promised to have done by the end of the month. Why don't you get some sleep?"

He blinked, surprised, I think. It was early, even for him. "But..."

"I'll do the laundry," I said gently. "Go to bed, Al. I'll be fine." I tried to smile and he echoed it immediately, although it was a tired expression on his sweet face. "I got a lot out when I was up at the house."

As I settled in the den, I heard him fussing in the bathroom, then the sound of the bed frame easing as he slid into bed. It was a nice bed but I was seriously considering gifting him with a new bedroom set when we moved. God only knew how many miles he'd put on the one we slept on!

In my heart, as I started my work, I hoped that together we'd break in the new bed when we moved into the new house. Six months from now it would be finished and I hoped that the foundation of our relationship would be as sound as the house we moved into.

Laundry and work finished, I got into a clean sweatsuit and socks. Opening the bedroom window six inches-an old habit-I slipped into my side of Al's bed and curled up as close to him as I dared.

Odd as it was, I always let the sound of Al's breathing put me to sleep. It was a constant in my life, like my own heartbeat. I'd learned every breathing pattern; when he'd smoked too much that day, or when he was having trouble sleeping because of bad dreams.

Tonight, I realized, it was rather different. Frowning, I leaned so close I felt the heat from his back against my cheek. At first, his breathing was slow, almost too much so. It quickened and rapidly deteriorated into an almost shallow rasping.

Before I could think about it, I turned him over onto his back. Reaching for and flipping on the bedside lamp, I saw that Al's complexion was gray, his lips slightly parted and dry. He was barely breathing. I forced back the scared child in me and allowed Doctor Beckett, MD to come forth. Pulse-thready. Breathing-shallow, almost non existent. My own heart was practically beating from my chest as I ran to the den, grabbed my bag, stopped off at the bath and got a glass of water then back to the bedroom.

Peeling back Al's left eyelid I noted his eyes were dilated. If I didn't act quickly he'd be dead. It was all the signs of an overdose. Pinching my lips together, I slapped him hard across the cheek and then, when he didn't react to that, leaned over him and tried to breathe life back into him. He needed air.

My lips fell over his and I tasted cigars, coffee, toothpaste and an almost acidic taste. He responded to the air I gave him, his eyes cracked open but not aware.

"Al!"

He flinched and tried to move out of my grasp. I held on harder. God, it wasn't that hard to hold onto him. "Look at me, Al." His eyes widened only a little but enough that I knew he was trying. "How many pills did you take?"

"Dunno." His voice was dragged out, pained as if it was killing him to talk to me. For a split second I thought he'd done this on purpose. "Head..."

"I know. It hurts. Did you take a pill before bed?"

His face went blank and he frowned. "Two."

"Took two.?" I grabbed the bottle by the bed and read over the instructions. "It says to take one at bedtime." I helped him to a sitting position and forced a glass of water to his lips. "Drink this." He took the whole glass and drank it down. It seemed to give him strength and awareness. "Good." I took the empty glass from him and set it by the lamp. "Now." I left my hands on his shoulders and tried to meet hs watery gaze. "Al, did you take a pill before bed?"

"Yeah." He shook himself like a dog would, maybe to clear his head . The minute he realized I was holding him he stared at me like I was insane. "Sam...what are you..."

"I'm trying to get to find out what happened." Gripping his arm, I forced him from the bed and onto his feet. "You need to walk. Somehow you've overdosed."

"Overdosed!" He looked at me, aghast. "Sam..." Wincing, he put one foot in front of the other and went for the window. I didn't let go of him a second, allowing him to put his head outside and get some decent fresh air. He practically gasped for it.

"You went to bed too early," I said. Easing him from the window I tried to get him to look at me. His eyes were not quite as dilated but he still didn't look any better.  
"Al, you took one pill at bedtime. Are you sure you didn't take two or three?"

Slumping, he moved out of my grasp and shivered . I was afraid he'd fall to the floor and put an arm out for him. Instead of taking it, he looked at it dumbly and then leaned against the wall. "I'm tryin' to think," he said, his voice worn thin.

"Okay." The entire adrenaline run was crasing on me. It had been the first time I'd touched anyone without thinking in so long. And touching Al... "Talk to me. Keep talking, Al."

"I dunno." He looked up and almost grinned. "Yeah. That has to be it."

"It?"

"I think I got up and was sorta...well, woozy." Rubbing a hand across his forehead he got a thoughtful look on his face. "Man, what a stupid move. Maybe I forgot I'd taken the first dose and, lookin' at the clock..." He shuddered a moment, caught himself and then continued. "Yep. It was my regular bedtime by the clock. I thought I'd forgotten the pills and then I took the other one..."

"It combined with the first you'd taken maybe an hour before."

Al nodded and, carefully going around me, he used the wall as leverage to get to the bathroom.

As the adrenaline dissipated, so did my resolute need to touch Al. Making myself busy preparing coffee, taking out some cake that my sister had baked for us. Pecan coffee cake full of sugar and butter. Al needed substance, anything quick.

"Sa..." Al froze at the door and leaned hard against the wall, watching as I cut the cake. "M'sorry," he said, his voice sounding rough.

"Lose it?" I asked briefly.

"You could say that. I lost everything since 1953 I think." Sniffing the air he eased himself into a chair at the table. "That coffee?"

"If you can stand it." I poured him a cup, watered it down a bit, and then handed him that and a plate of cake. "Eat first, then the coffee."

"Equal," he said. "Two?"

Smiling, I tore open the packets and added it to the cup. "If that will make it taste better considering who made it!"

His smile was soft and slow. Dreamy, almost. "I remember a time when I taught you how to make coffee." Taking the cup he lifted it to his lips and sipped. "Mmm. Not bad. Not strong." Made a face. "I taught you better'n that."

"I put eggshells in the filter," I said, sitting across from him with my one rare coffee. "You told me it took the acid out." I took a sip and winced. Thank God I had watered it down a little for Al. "And I put a little water in yours, Al. Just enough to keep you from intaking too much caffeine."

Another smile. He seemed so much more at ease. Slowly, almost tentatively, his hand came across the table, resting softly near mine. Before he could tap like he always did, I took the big step and really held his hand. It was warm, like I knew it would be, soft. Wordlessly, his head came up, his eyes glowing as they met my gaze. We sat like that for a long time until we finally got up, turned off the lights, and, by some silent, mutual agreement, went to bed.

Verbena:

Sam's phone call had caught me by surprise. It took me over an hour to recover from it. Dare I say he sounded ...well? Okay, as usual I'm being overly optimistic. When it comes to Sam Beckett I want to believe that miracles happen.

On a morning, not so long ago, Sam Beckett had been at my door with a huge bouquet of daisies and an invitation to breakfast. Sam was like that once; spontaneous, loving. Especially to those that cared for him on the Leaps, or who cared for Al. As I sat at my table after his phone call I remembered him sitting across from me that day, a huge beaten up straw hat on his head and enthusiasm and excitement written in every move he made. Al had been gone on some mission, some meeting. Sam had been home for more than two weeks and...he was happy .

That was what I remembered the best about 'before'. Sam had been so full of happiness, loving every second of life and home.

We had our breakfast under the trees at the park just down the road. It was so sunny, not too warm. After we ate our fill of the croissants that Sam had brought (my favorite), we both leaned back and stared at the sky, the blue, blue sky above us.

"I haven't had a day like this in forever," I sighed. His fingers twined in mine. God. At that moment I felt he was the most solid, well-adjusted person. I went to him with my probles, for Crissake! "Playing hooky."

"I'm the boss and I saw when we do and when we don't," he teased. Rolling over onto his side, he pulled a grass stem frm his lips and met my eyes. Suddenly that gleeful expression was all seriousness. "I...I wanted to talk to you about something. Get your opinion."

"HMO?" This sounded interesting. Sam asking me for advice! Those hazel eyes were darker somehow when he was serious. "Shoot, Sammy." I rolled over onto my belly, thanking god we'd had the presence of mind to bring a soft blanket to lay on. "The psychiatrist is open. Charge, twenty-five cents."

"This isn't exactly an...analyst question." His smile was shy as he looked away, his attention distracted by a group of children playing nearby. "I remember a time when flying a kite was my only problem."

"You have a problem?" That worried me.

"No. Not really...but I do." Secret smile, soft, slight. For a moment he stared down at th eblanket and then met my eyes. "I guess the best way to start thisis to simply say it." I tried to look encouraging. "Okay." He almost laughed. "I'm in love wtih Al, Bena."

His revelation didn't exactly strike me dumb or anything. Actually, theydidn't call me intuitive for nothing. I'd seen the little reunion scene, saw the love in Sam's expressive eyes everytime he looked at Al when the Admiral's back was turned, of course. "You think?" I grinned.

"You ace as if you expected me to say that."

"I'm not terribly surprised and, no, don't worry. I'm sure that no one, including Al, has noticed. It's my job to notice things like that." I took his slender hand and petted it. He had nice hands, beautiful fingers. "The big question is what are you going to do about it?"

There was nothing quite like Sam's thoughtful expression. No matter the question he always dwelled on it softly before answering. "I'd like to tell him but..."

"you're afraid the raving homophobe will rise up and bite you."

"Don't." Sam's thick brows drew together in a rare show of anger. "You just said the one thing that I'm most afraid of."

I tightened the grip I had on his hand just a little more, trying to give Sam a reassuring grin. "Look, pal. I'm joking. Al has...well, changed." His eyes widened only a little at that, his shoulders sagging as he relaxed. "A lot. Maybe more than you ealize." I pushed myself up and wrapped my arms around his warm body. He just sagged soft in my embrace. "When you disappeared for a while from the imaging chamber, Al aged. Maybe you've seen that."

A soft nod. "Yes," he replied, his voice almost a whisper. "I...don't remember much. Just what I've told ou about a bar, a man named Al and...then it all agets confusing and blurry."

"Never mind. That's a whole 'nother session, babe." He smiled and shook his head from side to side. "Al told me, and I don't think I'msaying things outta school when I tell you this, that he would move heaven and earth to have you back in his arms again." I shook him once, hard. He grinned. "Yeah, so he could pound you the next moment for leaping in the first place."

Easing away from me he got a look on his face that was hard to describe. It was a mixture of amazement and joy. "He said that?"

"Oh yeah, baby." I felt soooo smug! "O'course the second he realized what he said he sort o' hemmed and hawed and turned red. Cute, when he does that."

"Then...you think ..." He met my eyes in a question.

"That he might feel the same?" I smiled and toasted him with a cup of cooling coffee. "Oh, tell him! What do you have to lose?"

He hugged himself as if suddenly chill, his eyes distant, watching the children play. "I'd lose everything, Bena, if he said good-bye to me. If he dismissed me or thought it was a joke." His head bent and he looked like he might cry. "But if I never tell him..."

"You'll never know," I said.

His head came up and he turned to face me. "You won't tell him?" he questioned, eyes worried.

"No way, pal." I smiled and reached over, ruffling his long hair. "That's purely up to you."

The next afternoon I parked my car in front of that condo and felt something was different . My last visit had been a week after this had all began and it had ended with a fiercely cold stranger named Sam Beckett ordering me from the place. Before I could pull out, Al had grabbed my side of the car and made a quick comment about calling me. That and our brief meeting at the Project had been really the last time I'd seen Sammy.

Before I could knock, the door swung open and Sam was standing there. Not that stranger; my Sam, my best buddy. Well...almost. The shadows were still in his eyes, but he looked so much warmer, at ease. "Come in," he said. "Have you had lunch yet?"

My God, Al had a whole spread. Chicken on the gas grill, potatoes baking and fresh salad. Sam's secret baked beans that no one, I swear, could equal. Al sat down across from me as Sam stood outside, staring at the glittering pool. There was still a wrongness. "How is he?"I asked, digging into the food. I was starving!

"He's okay," Al said. He looked so tired. "Sometimes I think..." Pinching his lips together he glanced at the still form outside and shrugged. "The kid has good days and bad. Kate's visit-it did him a world o' good. He can tell ya more about it, more than I really have a right to."

I watched as Sam went from this zoned out glass-eyed look to quick attentiveness as he turned the chicken on the grill. "His hair is a little longer but ..."

"He doesn't work out at that gym," Al said. I could tell that he felt uncomfortable talking about Sam outside of his hearing.

"Enough about Sam," I said brusquely. "How are you?"

"Fine," he said too quickly.

"You look terrible. How are the meds doing? Do you need them still?"

He looked at his fingers, not my eyes. Bad sign. "You're the doc," he began.

"No way, Admiral." He made a face when I said that. "Our agreement was for you to tell me when you've had enough. .Are you still jittery? Can you sleep without them at night?"

"Not well." He leaned back in the chair and looked out the patio doors, his eyes on Sam. "Better since..."

"Since?" I prompted .

"He's been sleepin' with me." Blinking, he almost smiled. Compared to what this house had been like a few months ago this was paradise. "Not, y'know, that way, but just with me. It's nice ."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"Christ, I hate it when you make me tell ya stuff." Grimacing, he crossed his legs and glared at me. "I'll tell ya how I feel about it I love it and I'm scared, too."

"Honest. I like honest." I sipped at the peppermint tea.

"I accidentally overdosed last night." My eyes widened. "Naw, it was an accident. I took a pill and then...well, it was a mistake, okay?"

"Okay." I let my heart beat slow down before I nodded . "Go on."

"He...touched me. Gave me mouth to mouth, made me walk around so I wouldn't drop off. It was the second time he'd touched me since this all started . "

"Was he conscious of it? Did he talk about it?"

"Yeah, maybe but we really didn't talk about it." The doors slid open as Sam entered with a plate of chicken.

"No secrets," I said firmly. "We were talking about what happened when Al..."

"He overdosed. I did what I had to." His eyes were guarded and worried all at once. "I really think you can lay off the sleeping pills, Al." Sam gave me a look. I almost forgot that the guy had sharp hearing.

"Oh yeah?" Al sounded a little defensive. "I need 'em, Sam. Without 'em I don't sleep."

"Maybe we can fix that," Sam replied , sitting down across from me. He looked so concerned . When his eyes met mine I nearly fell apart . They looked...apologetic. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Bena. Maybe we can start from scratch, okay?"

I put out my hand and, miracle of miracles, he took it. "Friends, always, Sam."

"Always," he replied, his smile tight and controlled. At least his grip was warm and firm.

Sam didn't say much to me, very little, at least at the house. After lunch Sam got up from the table, gave Al a look that I'd say was loving. They connected and then Sam looked at me.

"Would you like to see the new house, Bena?" he asked.

I could have played stupid and said, "What house?" but that would have been wrong and a lie. I knew all about this dream home of theirs-it was the talk of the project.

He drove me to that beautiful acreage and escorted me to the 'living room to talk. The ground was hard but ironically he had brought the same quilt we used to. picnic on to keep our tussie's warm.

We talked about a few things; the weather, the progress that was being made on turning over Project Quantum Leap and making it anything but a time machine. It was an hour or more before we ran out of small talk and simply sat and stared at the scenic view.

Sam's face was so...silent. As if hiding secrets in the depths of his green eyes. At least his hair was beginning to grow back-a little. I wanted to touch him, to ruffle his forelock of silver and say that he was my 'lil buddy like I used to.

"I saw him, you know."

His voice was thin, almost all air. I stared down at the pattern of cloth beneath me and waited. It felt as if he didn't want me to speak and if I did I'd shatter the spell around US.

"A week after it happened I dug through the paperwork on the 'incident'." He said the word acidly, as if he hated the way it had been civilized into a term like that. "It was on Lieutenant Snyder's desk-security. I had Tina distract him while I found the file on the guy that attacked me."

His lips thinned as he paused briefly, looking towards some unknown vista.

"See, when he...when it happened I didn't see his face, had no idea who it was until I found that file. All I did was glance through it and put it back in rus desk." The corner of rus mouth quirked as he thought through what he was saying. "McCree was his name. John McCree."

"I know."

It was as if I hadn't said a word. He didn't even flinch. "The second I was in my office I accessed military records and read his...over and over. He was twenty-six, had been in the Marines for a little over seven years. All kinds of honors, some medals. The only black mark was that he'd been killed fleeing an 'attempted murder of a government employee'." I could see from the way he was sweating that each word was costing him.

"Sam, you don't have to 'give' me anything today."

"I need to tell you this, Bena. Maybe you'll understand. He shook his head, almost smiling. "God, I don't. Maybe you can give me some damned insight." His head lifted. "If Al knew what I did he'd kill me. Or at least be furious about it. I saw that man's face, Bena, every single day. He was a guard in the lab, a guy that I smiled at, that smiled back that even exchanged words with me, cordial words. Christmas presents." His eyes squinted as he looked at the sky, the bright blue bowl above us. It was cold and sunny. "He was a good person until that night. I thought, as I looked at the photo of his face, that maybe I'd led him on by being kind, by being...soft."

"God. He took advantage of you, Sam. Maybe he was smart, easing into what he did slowly so you wouldn't suspect." I hated McCree as I said those words. "Devious bastard. That's what he was."

"I was inn...innocent ." Sam's eyes suddenly held more peace in them than I'd seen in forever. "Kate made me see that. At the time I saw those records I believed I was responsible. I went to his commander-he owed me since I insisted on not pressing charges, even when Al told me I had to."

"What did you do that was so bad?"

"I told his commander to wipe any mention of what had happened off his record." His voice shook through all of it. "I changed history without a fucking time machine. He had a family, a mother, a father, even a little brother."

"You weren't thinking it was like Tom..."

"Nothing like that!" he snapped . "I saw a guy that had led a good life up to the moment he made some split second decision to desire me, to want to..." He swallowed the words and no way would I insist he tell me more than what he had that moment. "Commander Atkins cleared the guy's record, said he died defending the base from an 'unidentified intruder'."

"And Al doesn't know this?"

"He will-someday. When I tell him."

Reaching over, I took his hand and, wonder of wonders, he held me back. Suddenly, I was in his arms and he was holding me like he had before, a million years before. For that moment all was right with the world again and Sam was whole.

I left Bena off at her house and drove home slowly. After I'd told her what I'd done for McCree I started thinking that it would be best if I told Al what I'd done so there'd be no secrets between us. At least about this.

Poor Al. I knew he was trying not to look worried but no way could he help but look exactly that. The moment I pulled into the driveway I saw him at the front door, looking quickly up at the sky as if to say, "I wasn't looking for you. Nope, no sirree. Hmm...Iwas getting a weather report. Nice lookin' sky, no clouds. Won't rain tonight."

Stuffing my hands in my pockets I went in the house and poured myself a cold glass of water from the fridge.

"It go okay?" he asked, sounding as if he felt bad about doing so.

"I'll be seeing Dr. Stan tomorrow," I said smoothly. His brown eyes went wide. "Beeks is talking to him tonight and I've given her carte blanche to discuss the situation." That made him almost fall down. Quickly, he took a seat at our kitchen table. "It has to be done sometime," I said, sitting across from him. "How was your afternoon?"

"Welll..." Al's eyes twinkled as he grinned. I could tell he was pleased. Good he was in a decent mood. "Watched some of the game-the Yankees are playin' as shitty as ever. Did some laundry."

"I've got something to tell you and it might not be easy-at least for me." His face went completely sober, almost afraid. "I'm not leaving you, nothing like that." My fingers touched the edge of his and he relaxed. My touch could do that, I had discovered. "I did something and Beeks and I thought it best I tell you."

"Go ahead," he said, not moving. "Is it good or bad news?"

"Depends on who is receiving it." He didn't smile. "After this all happened, just after as a matter of fact, I...I called Commander Atkins and had McCree's record cleared of any indication that he had attacked me."

Al's face went totally blank. I'd gotten used to him being quiet, taking things in stride, no tension. Suddenly, he rose from the table and was over me, yelling, "How the hell could you do that?"

"He had a family..."

"He almost killed you, Sam!" His voice had gained to a full roar and I didn't dare move . I knew he wouldn't strike me but he was furious... "The bastard deserved to have his record tarnished at least! Christ, how could you do something so fucking stupid?"

Something in me trembled and I suddenly started to physically shake. Before I could respond to Al, to his anger (that I'm sure was justified-he'd been through as much as me-nearly) I was on the floor heading for the quickest and easiest attainable corner.

I curled there. There was a lot of silence, quiet. Maybe Al had stopped yelling . I flinched and tried to become part of the wall. Closing my eyes, I felt my gut just clench. Dammit, I'd let Al down, let everyone down. How could I let Al down like that ? I should have never called Atkins.

"Kid."

I blinked and didn't move.

"I'm sorry, Sam. Can we talk about this?"

"I'm the one that's sorry," I whispered.

"Sam!" That made me stiffen. His voice was even, still a little angry. "I'm mad you did it, but you had the right to do it, not me criticizing you and sayin' that you're stupid. Can you forgive me?"

That's when it got through to me that he was crying. I pushed back the darkness that was around me and reached for Al. It was pure reflex, a need to comfort him, to make him feel better. He drew me from the floor and into his arms. In another moment I was at the table with him, being held like I was little again. His arms were shaking, tears dripping down his cheeks and falling on my shirt.

"I'm sorry I shouted," he managed . "I love you."

Those three words, and his fingers twisting in the material of my shirt as if trying to hold me there purely by force. His touch didn't bum, it didn't ruin me. It was his love that had kept me sane during this terrible time and by pure strength of will he had kept himself from falling into the pit with me.

"I'll be alright," I said, my hand coming up slowly and touching the dark curls that I'd been wanting to stroke for as long as I'd been in love with Al. "I promised you, Al. Everything will be alright."

Dr. Stan wasn't a prying type; more or less he was quiet, a listener. I spoke, or said nothing. He reacted, his blue eyes watching, blond head nodding as he took in what I had to say. The first session with him was murder. I didn't know what to do, what to say.

"Say nothing," he said, smiling, sitting back in his chair. "We can sit out on the deck, watch the clouds. How's that?"

He had a nice open air office and an attitude to match . For the first hour we sat, watched clouds and got to know each other with little or no conversation passing between us.

On the other hand, Al arrived after my session, Dr. Stan sent me out for fast food and he and Al had a talk. It lasted over dinner, far into the evening. All about me, I assumed. I made up an excuse and left them alone when I'd returned with the hamburgers . When I returned hours later the food was untouched and Al looked utterly drained but...exhilarated .

It was the beginning of doors that opened, remained opened and gave me an echo of what I had felt like before this nightmare had started. More mornings than not I felt like getting up instead of the fight I'd gone through before to see another sunrise. And Al. After his talk with Stan he had lost some of the stoop, some of the lines.

"He said we have a lot of hope," Al had told me. It had made me feel better immediately. I never asked what they had talked about, and Al didn't volunteer.

Meeting with Stan twice a week was draining. Stan would have a cup of something warm to greet me with, or a soda. I would sit on the couch, sip at the drink and then, reluctantly start to talk. Anything to break the silence.

"It's okay," Stan said gently, leaning back in his cushioned leather chair. "We can talk about the weather, Sam. We can talk about the new house or even quitting the current project that you're working on. Or nothing at all." His grin was easy and It was three sessions before I brought up something besides the weather or what comforting. "It's up to you what we do at these sessions."

It was three sessions before I borught up something besides the weather or what sort of living room furniture we had picked out for our house. Stan and his partner, Phillip, were in the midst of moving to a new condo so we had things in common that way. The third session I felt I could trust Stan enough to start talking about something less mundane-maybe bring up the reason we were really there.

"It happened three months ago," I said suddenly, out of the blue, ten minutes after I'd sat down and sipped from the lemon lime soda. The ice clinked in the glass as I set it down on the table at my elbow.

"Sam?"

"I was raped." I shrugged apologetically.

"You can talk about it, Sam, or not at all." His long blond hair glinted in the sun that flowed through the window. "It's purely up to you."

"You've said that before." I looked up and met his soft gaze. It wasn't sympathetic or angry. Stan was quiet, even tempered. Beeks had chosen my therapist well. "I want to be well again, Stan."

The flood gates opened that session. By the end I was worn, angry inside and dropping the remnants of shredded tissue into the trash can as I left the office. I hadn't cried but tearing the tissue had helped as I talked to Stan, bled with each word of what I remembered.

I came home with a lingering anger that I couldn't quite get out of my system before I pulled into the driveway. Stan had warned me that I'd be upset, even angry at Al for no reason. Al had been told, during that long converstaion he'd had with Stan initially, that my attitude and emotions would be on a roller coaster when the real therapy started.

The food that Al set in front of me made me furious. The gentle words, asking if I wanted him to run me a bath, made me incredibly angry. I hadn't said a word to Al, not even a greeting or thank you for the dinner. It was as if all I'd said had made me relive the worst moments of my life and I felt dirty and angry and, most of all, I didn't feel as if I was worth any goodness given to me by anyone.

As Al prepared a bath for me, I took a blanket from the bed, stormed from the condo, went to my truck and drove to the house lot. Curling up in the cab of my truck, I pulled the blanket over my shoulders, stared at the walls that had just rose over the barren land and closed my eyes. It was freezing cold but I didn't care. I just wanted to stop hurting and stop the voices in my head that said I was a horrible person. It made me sick inside, hearing them.

It was hours later, maybe not, but it seemed so, that a flashlight was shined into the cab and I saw the worred face of Al in the window. I'd locked the doors so no one could bother me.

"Sammy." He rested his head against the closed window, his voice muffled. "God, I'm so glad you're okay."

I clutched the blanket closer around me and shut my eyes tight. The compassion in his gaze. It tightened my throat, made me want to cry. That, I couldn't do.

"Sam, look, I'll leave you alone. Just look at me. Give me..." His voice was so quiet I could hardly hear him. "Just let me know you're okay before I go to bed tonight . I'll leave you out here, Sammy. I swear. What did I do? I won't do it again." His words were beginning to jumble together, and he sounded scared. "Sam, please look at me, kid. Please."

My head came up without my realizing it. His face was lit by only the flashlight, but I could see the tears. I was doing it again, hurting him. The screams were building, echoes of what I'd felt in the hospital, of what I'd been through with Stan and all I'd said. My dirty guilt, the anger at myself for not hitting and fighting back or not being able to.

It built in me like a storm, twisting in my gut as curled into myself tighter. Later, I realized that Al had my extra keys, that he'd opened the door and, of his own volition, taken me into his arms. Pulling me to him he held me as I choked back the tears, kissing soft against my throat and then petting through my hair with shaking fingers.

"It'll be easier the next time," Al was saying. I tried to nod and felt the alien sensation of tears flowing warm down my face. Iburied my face against his chest and sniffed. "Yeah, it'll be okay, darlin'. You trust me, doncha?""

"Yeah," I breathed, feeling the knot inside me release along with the tears. Unwittingly my arms tightened around him as he held me. "I believe you, Al. I do."

Like most things, everything happened at the same time. Project Quantum Leap went into history, Al retired and we were in the middle of preparing to move. After six weeks of sessions Ifelt stronger, more confident. I only wondered when everything would click in and I'd be well. I'd been educated in the very best of medical schools, knew that all the therapy in the world was no sure fix. Even Stan pointed that out to me frequently.

This wasn't about having sex with Al. It was about having a life with him, being with him, feeling comfortable enough to receive a hug without thinking about it. That had happened. The other things...the intimacy...was what I was worried about .

We still slept together...carefully. We hadn't kissed, although I knew that Al had wanted to more than once. Stan told me to take it easy, and maybe try something small to start.

A kiss was small. It was also almost impossible for me to think about. I was glad that my rapist hadn't tried to kiss me. If I was this bad now... God only knew why he had chose to do what he did, and how.

I read the books that Verbena lent me and even listened to what Phillip, Stan's partner told me about being in love. Stan had spent time with Al that day, helping him, letting him talk over his doubts, perhaps. Phillip told me a little thing he'd done the first night he'd spent with a man. I wanted to try it in the worst way but I was afraid.

I kept telling myself that Al would never hurt me. The night I decided to take action and do what Phillip had told me I had no idea how to broach the subject with Al.

We were watching the NBA playoffs. Unlike other years it didn't interest me much. I felt pensive and Al was pretending to be interested in the whole thing, even claiming he had a bet on the outcome.

"Can we talk?"

The moment I said the words he hit the mute on the remote and looked at me as if he'd expected some serious confrontation. "Shoot, kid." His eyes were warm and understanding as he took my hand. "You're hands are cold."

"Can you go into the bedroom?" I asked. "I know you're into this game and all but..."He tried to smile encouragingly. It helped. "I need to have you do something for me and if I don't do it tonight...I might never do it at all."

"I'll do whatever you want, Sam." Releasing my hand he patted me on the shoulder as he got up. "Just tell me what you need, darlin'."

Leading him to the bedroom, I sat him down on the bed, pulled the curtains against the evening and the world beyond and went into the bathroom. Turning to face him, I found myself without words. He sat there, so trusting, hiding worry. Why was I being so...dramatic about this?

"I have to do something in the bath," I said. My voice was shaking. "Wait for me here, Al."

In the bath I slowly pulled all my clothing from my body. Unlike the usual, I had the light on. Stan's voice echoed in my head as I turned to face the mirror.

You have to learn to love yourself, Sam, before you can love another. Do you understand that?

I did and it was more work than I really wanted to think about. Staring at myself in the glass I took in the changes in my body. It was stronger looking, muscular where it had been soft. My build was slender to the point of thinness. My weight would return in time.

Taking a deep breath, I reached down and rested my hand gently against my cock. Other than for purely necessary reasons I hadn't touched myself in a long time-since before. It was almost as if that night I'd been castrated... at least in a sexual sense. Myl dick meant about as much to me as an eyebrow or a fingernail .

The scar on my throat was still prevalent , darkened with time but damaged flesh, physical proof that I'd been assaulted and lived . Closing my eyes, I let my hands touch every curve of flesh, and finally, reaching my throat, stroked myself gently before I turned and walked out the door.

On the bed , Al's eyes were wide as he saw my naked body for perhaps the first time. We'd never showered in a communal sense, or even gone to the can together outside of the leaps. That look in his eyes turned from surprised to treasuring . He stood but didn't move a foot towards me.

"I love you," Al said softly. "God." His eyes filled as he cocked his head to one side. "Has anyone told you how beautiful you are, kid?"

I was terrified, every breath shallow, my mouth dry as I walked across the carpet towards him, towards the man I really loved. Time passed slowly, but I knew it was only a matter of minutes. When I got to the bed I stood there stupidly in front of Al as if daring him to touch me.

"Al, I'm not doing this to tease." My voice shook nearly as much as my knees. Gently, Al drew me down to the soft carpet. There; kneeling was much better than standing. "I'm..." Then, speech just left me. Al eased me into his arms and I let my head fall into his lap. One of his gentle hands was stroking my bare back.

"What did you want to prove, Sam?" I felt a soft kiss in my hair. It brought tears to my eyes. Since my earlier outburst I had a hard time holding my emotions in when it came to Al or anything he said to me.

"I felt disgusted," I said bitterly, clenching my fists in his lap. "I thought that if I showed you ...I mean..."

"You're beautiful, Sam. No two ways about it." A touch on the back of my neck. "If you're feeling bad inside, maybe we can do something about that. That self-image thing that Stan is always blathering about." I just nodded, not knowing what or how to say what he could articulate so much better. "Are you giving me your soul, Sam? You already have mine, kid."

I looked up and saw nothing but devotion and care in his eyes. There wasn't a drop of need or want. It was pure satisfaction, like I'd done the best thing in the world for him. Wrapping my arms around his waist I held on to that lifeline and didn't let go. Al was my anchor.

Al:

I sat there rubbing his back quietly, it seemed like hours. The evening light through the drawn drapes reminded me of when I was a kid, going to bed while it was still daylight. I could've sat there like that with Sam forever - in fact, if you asked me what Heaven is, that's what it is. For me. Just to hold him, touch him, let him feel how much I love him. Feels like I've loved Sam for such a long, long time-but I could never show him. Tell him, yeah - I've tried to do that. Tried to show him with deeds too, things I did or didn't do because I love him. But touch is something unique, like nothing else. The feeling I had when the palm of my hand moved softly over his bony back, was something I can't describe. It went straight into my heart, and I felt like I was gonna burst with love of him. I poured all that love into my touches, hoping he could feel it.

He felt it. The shivers and the tension started easing out of his back muscles, and he shifted a little bit closer, straightening up a bit so his head was resting on my shoulder. He was such a picture of trust, it broke my heart. Trust shouldn't be a bad thing, but he looked so vulnerable sitting there naked. I tried not to think about it, but my mind kept asking how the hell someone could have taken this body and violated it. I ran my hands along his shoulders and down his arms, feeling the soft skin over the taut strong muscles. Muscles that would've fought, and killed, if only he'd had a chance. Brushed my fingertips through the hair on his forearms till I had his hands gently clasped in mine. His hands were the only part of him still shaking.

"Now I can tell you're a real doc," I said with a grin to egg him on.

"Huh?" Surprised, he had to look at me.

I smiled into his eyes. "Your hands. They're like icebergs. Colder'n a polar bear's pajamas."

"I'm scared, Al." His eyes darkened in apology. "Not...not of you."

"I know, kid." Jesus, when I think of the stones it took for him to walk out of that bathroom naked - I've seen him do some brave things in our years together, but that one beats the band. "I was right, what I said back then. You are a hero." That's not a word I'd use lightly, and he knows me well enough to know that. "I know right now you probably don't feel like one - guess you'd settle for just feeling like a man again - but it's true. Never been more true than it is now."

He sighed. "Well you got one thing right - it's not how I feel." But he held onto my hands, and his grip got a little stronger. Not desperate, just stronger.

"Clearin' that guy's record, that's what a hero would do," I admitted painfully. "It's not what I would do. But that's one of the reasons I always loved you, Sam. I can look up to you. And I never, ever looked up to you more than I do tonight."

He grinned faintly, shaking his head. "Okay, I got that Al. You think I'm a hell of a guy. But it doesn't change how I feel inside. I'm scared, and I'm weak, and ... guilty."

"Aw, Sam. The only thing you're guilty of- the only thing you were ever guilty of is being too good for this lousy world."I leaned forward and rested my temple against the crown of his head, listening to him breathe. He really was scared. "Anything you wanna do, we'll do it, Sam. No questions asked. You make like Nike - y'know, just do it."

He looked down at his trembling hands. "That's the problem, I don't know what to do. I want to feel. I want to be able to express my love, some way other than taking from you. And..." his voice dipped very low, like he was embarrassed to death, "I want to be...potent again. But from here, doesn't feel like any ofthat's gonna happen."

"It's all gonna happen. All of that and more." I rubbed his back again soothing. "Okay, if you're not ready yet, how about if I do something? Huh? Something that'll make me feel better."

He nodded. Gently I pulled my hands free and loosened my tie, unbuttoned my I tried to undress naturally just like I would at night, didn't want him to think I shirt. Sam sat back cross-legged and watched, quiet concentration on his face.

I tried to undress naturally just like I would at night, didn't want him to think I meant it as a strip-tease. But somewhere in the process my hands started shaking. I kept sneaking glances at Sam's face, wondering if he'd feel threatened. I know how important this is, how it could be the turning-point of our whole future together. More than that, Sam's future; whether he'll ever be able to lead a full life again could depend on me doing this right. I've had some good talks with Dr Stan - I'll remember that guy in my prayers till my dying hour for what he's done for Sam and for me - but where the rubber hits the road I'm all alone with this.

Okay, Stan will say do what you feel. Easier said than done, pal. Everything Sam does comes straight from his heart - that's not therapy, that's the way he's always been, honest and pure. But me - my heart is old and confused, it doesn't know what to tell me anymore. I just want to love him, the best I can - the best way for him. And God, look at how he trusts me!

I took off every stitch, even my ring and my wristwatch. If I'd had dental plates and a hairpiece I'd've jettisoned those too. I wanted to be as naked as Sam was, even though I know I can't be. Then I sat down on the floor facing him, like two babies on a blanket.

He settled to gazing at me with a trace of a smile. "Know what this reminds me of?"

"Couple of Cabbage Patch kids?"

"Remind me of the magic carpet. You know, in the Arabian Nights. They sat on a magic rug and they could fly anywhere in the world, anywhere intime or space." His eyes had a wistful look. He reached over and took my arm between his fingers, examining the scar above my elbow. His hands were a little bit warmer now. "Thisis a rope burn, right?"

"Yeah. You've seen those before." I showed him the one on my other arm; pair of cute bracelets Charlie gave me in Hanoi. Souvenir of forty:eight hours spent hanging upside down from a roofbeam.

"So that makes it thirty years old." He rubbed his fingertip experimentally over the tough white scar.

I got the analogy. Holding my breath, I raised my hand and touched the scar on his neck, just traced it for a second with my fingertips. The feel of it gave me a pain in my gut - it was like the violence was still in it. And yet it was part of Sam. Sam's skin, just a little crinkled and hard. Sam's dear precious body. He made a tiny little sound when I took my fingers away, so I put 'em back quick. Caressed the skin carefully, feeling whether he tensed or relaxed. I'd thought this would be hard on him, the scar and its reminders, but he seemed to find my touch there comforting. And there's nothing I wouldn't do to comfort him.

I brushed the backs of my fingers along the scar and then let my thumbtip trail over the softness of his unharmed skin on his collarbone . His skin felt warm here now, flushed even.

"Talk to me, Al," he whispered. "Don't be silent."

I swallowed. He caught me off-guard with the artless plea . I knew that some words had been spoken during the rape - Verbena never told me what, and I didn't want to know. But he wanted to hear my voice, so he wouldn't hear the other voice. But it was hard on me - every time I tried to say the things I wanted to say to him, tell him how beautiful he is even, I got this knot in my gut. What if I was saying the same thing that bastard said to him? It scared me more than almost anything else.

"You about ready to get this thing seen to?" I said, trying to sound normal, conversational. "Don't leave it thirty years, kid."

"I won't," he promised. "Just as soon as we're settled in the new house, I'll have the reconstructive surgery."

"Good," I nodded approval. "That fancy laser stuff they got now, it'll be a walk in the park."

"Yeah," he breathed out heavily . "Compared to what we've come through, it will. Al , I'm just sorry this isn't...easier."

"This is perfect," I said passionately. Couldn't believe he put everything on the line to do this and then he was apologizing because it wasn't enough. "It's perfect , Sam."

"It's not," he shook his head, fingers gently gripping my shoulder. "Tell me this is what you imagined when you wrote 'Sam, Sam, Sam,' over and over in your day-planner."

"I'll tell you what I was thinking about when I wrote 'Sam, Sam, Sam' - just exactly that. I was thinking about you. Not what we were gonna do, or what was gonna happen - I was thinking about how much I love you, Sam... That's what made me wanna scribble in my diary like a starstruck co-ed. And that hasn't changed one bit." I brushed my fingers through his short hair, feeling the softness of it, like a little baby's. Remembering how I used to love it when it was long and thick, how I couldn't take my eyes off it whenever the sun shone on it. Back then I used to wish he would cut it, cause every time I looked at it my insides turned to mush and I wasn't ready to deal with why.

I let my hand mold gently to his warm scalp, the short strands springing up between my fingers and clinging to my skin. Faintly I could smell the plain shampoo and that clean scent that is just Sam. For a while after the attack, he even smelled different - can't say how exactly, but different. Now he smells like he always did. Young, healthy - clean. So clean. I cradled the back of his head and smiled at him. "Nothing's changed, Sam. The fire that's inside you - nothing can change that."

He sighed. And his clear eyes looked anything but young. "I want to believe it, Al. I want to." His voice had that same pitbull determination he gets when some gizmo he's built doesn't squeak and wiggle the way it's supposed to.

I had his head cupped in my hand, and that fierce open look in his eyes, his mouth just a couple inches from mine - it would be so easy to kiss him. I never felt so close to doing it. But I couldn't stand the thought of hurting him and making him afraid. I held it in, cut it back like I have a hundred times before. It hurt so much more this time, with his breath on my face and his hand on my naked skin.

He saw that look in my eyes - he's seen it too often, I can't seem to hide it from him. He just turns his head away, looking apologetic, like he feels he's let me down.

But this time he didn't look away - this time he moved like a big cat pouncing, and suddenly his mouth was on mine, sucking hard, a hot tongue bumping my lips. I was stunned, knocked right out of the park. His hands are really strong, and he had hold of my shoulders tight enough to break my bones. I didn't care! Sam was kissing me - and how.

I couldn't think with Sam's mouth on me, sliding roughly from my mouth to my jaw, his wet lips dragging over my skin till he was sucking at my neck, the hot breath blasting out of his nose against my pulse. He was throwing his whole self into this - and his whole self was shaking, trembling violently. I tried to hold him, reassure him- God, I knew what an effort it had taken him to break through this last barrier. He burrowed his tongue into the hollow of my collarbone, and his short soft hair was rubbing against the skin of my neck where he'd wet it with his tongue. Man, I had forgotten just how sensual Sam is!

So why the hell...

Why the hell am I just lying here? Paralyzed, it felt like.

"I love you, Al," he muttered against my pee, his head pushing against my breastbone as his mouth made for a nipple. His voice was rough and low, muffled against me, but I could still hear the anxiety in it. I put weak hands on his shoulders, holding him and urging him on. This'll do it, Sammy - just you suck on that, this has gotta do it.

He pinched my nipple between his fingertips, those long pianist's fingers, sensitive tips. Looked at it for a moment and then kissed it, gentle as you'd kiss a baby bird. Licked it, rough hot tongue against rough nipple. It made my teeth chatter, but my cock lay like a dead fish, and it was scaring the crap outta me.

I've had some failures under pressure, God knows. It's a panicky feeling. But this was worse by a million. This is Sam, who's marched through the fires of Hell to make love to me. And I know what's gonna happen now in that brain of his - the way he's been feeling since the rape, he's gonna be convinced I don't want him, he's gonna think when it came to the practical I found out I really was disgusted after all...

"Sam, I love you..." I whispered with all the heat and conviction I could put into it, at the same time trying to move with him, trying to get into the swing. I slid my hands down to his waist and held on, tremblng myself now.

His long arms went around me, one around my shoulders and the other round my back, hauling me firmly up and against his chest . I could feel his heart thudding against my raw nipple as he kissed me again. Deep this time, his tongue plowing into my mouth, twisting hungrily round my tongue. Which might as well have been pickled tongue, for all the response it gave.

I wanted to respond - holy mother of God, did I want to respond! The same as when you want to run from the flesh-eating monsters in a nightmare, I just couldn't.

Sam got the message finally, and pulled his mouth away from mine. His chin was pink from scraping against me, and his lips were wet - there was sexual life in his eyes for the first time in five months. And I was killing it. Tears came into my eyes and I had to look away. I hadn't felt this worthless since I called Bena and begged her to chemically castrate me.

"I want you so much," I muttered.

"Doesn't look like it, Al."

I shuddered with the cold and despair as he carefully took his hands off me, sitting back on his heels. "I do. God, you've seen the way I look at you, I can't hide it. You know I dream about you, night and day."

His shoulders rounded, hands falling to his sides. "That's it - you dreamed. Al, you'd never even seen me naked before tonight. Certainly not since I was raped." I heard him forcing the words out, forcing himself not to be scared of them. "You dreamed about someone who was strong, someone who'd never been with a man."

"I dreamed about you," I said desperately. "I know the difference between fantasy and reality, Sam. Trust me, the desire I felt was real. That's the trouble, it was too real. I was always afraid I was gonna get worked-up around you and it would scare you to death, or upset you or worse. I was even scared when you slept in my bed, in case I'd get too close to you when we were sleeping. I felt wrong even fantasizing about you. I've been wanting what I can't have for so long, that now when I finally can - I can't."

He studied me for a moment. I could see the war going on behind his eyes. Part of him knew damn well I was right, and the other part - the hurt, paranoid, helpless part - said it was a load of bullshit to cover the fact I found him repellent now. I just didn't know if he had enough strength yet to make the right side win.

He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. His fingers drummed lightly on the carpet at his sides. His ribs hitched slightly, but I couldn't see any tears. Hitched again. I started to get up to help him in case he was getting sick. Then I heard the sound deep in his chest, and I flopped back down onto the rug in surprise. Something I hadn't heard in five long months. Sam, laughing.

I watched him with narrowed eyes, thinking maybe I'd finally pushed him over the edge. But it was pure, natural laughter. His shoulders shook and a big grin spread over his face. Just the way he used to laugh whenever something tickled that weirdo funny bone of his. God, I had almost forgotten how good that sounded. His voice has changed somewhat because of the injury to his throat - but that laugh was just the same.

I'd forgotten how damn infectious it is too. A moment ago I'd been in despair, now I was fighting off a grin. "Sam, you okay?" I managed, my voice not steady, "What are you laughing about?"

"Us, Al. Look at us. What a pair." He took his eyes from the ceiling and looked at me. The laughter was in his eyes too. "He really did a number on both of us, didn't he?"

I was shocked. But at the same time my laugh-demon was putting up a fight to get out. "It's not something to laugh about," I croaked.

"Yeah, it is. Don't you see? If we can laugh about it, then it means we're alone. He's not here with us."

"I don't know what that means, kid," I said, although of course I did, "But I know one thing - hearing you laugh again, that's the best feeling I've had in a long time."

He broke up again, looking at his limp dick and my limp dick. "Better than sex, huh?"

"Jeez Louise, Sam," I chided him, trying to catch my breath through the giggles. "C'mere, come on." I took his hand and pulled him to his feet, still laughing his ass off, and led him to the bed.

He sat down on the edge and then scotted across to my side, stretching out on top of the covers. "Maybe we should settle for tickling each other." He was still grinning, but there was regret in his eyes.

"You should never have to settle, Sam," I said sincerely . "Not you." I lay down beside him and propped my head on a fist. Stretched out my free hand and stroked his arm, fingertips tracing through the hair up to the bony elbow. Drifted my fingertips up over the hard bulge of his biceps, up to a smooth warm shoulder. "How's that? That tickle?" I smiled at him. His eyes were clear, no fear there. There was even a touch of mischief in them.  
"Not really."

I traced the curve of the powerful muscles where his shoulder joins his neck. Brushed the back of my fingers up and down his windpipe for a moment, gentling the scar, feeling his Adam's apple jump when he swallowed. I wanted to touch every inch of his body, pour out my love through the touch so he would just soak it up and be healed .

"You're so beautiful." It was easier to say this time. I circled the tips of two fingers around and around his chin, feeling the little sharp points of stubble, the strong shape of his chin. "Touch doesn't lie, Sam. Would I touch you like this if I didn't want you? You think it would feel like this ifI didn't yearn for you nights?" I let my fingers do the kissing, brushing ever so softly over his lips.

He swallowed again, his eyes still bright but serious now. His lips formed a silent no and on the o they molded around my fingertip, just for an instant. Warm, and soft. Asking.

I leaned closer and planted a light kiss on his mouth, just flicking the tip of my tongue into that o that had held my fingertip. There was no shaking now. But when I pulled back I felt him sigh. There was heat in his eyes too.

I brushed my fingers through his hair a couple times, calming him down again, and then put the palm of my hand flat on his breastbone. I could feel his heartbeat, strong and slow. He was breathing deep, almost like he was sleepy. It was a hell of a contrast to his exertions before, but he seemed to be enjoying it. Maybe my dead dick was a blessing in disguise - seemed to have taken the pressure off, somehow.

I rubbed slow circles on his stomach. His abs are too tight for anyone's comfort, but right now they were as soft as they ever get. He used to shave his chest when he started going to that gym, but it's growing in again nicely now - probably itches like hell but it looks beautiful, silky brown hair growing in thicker than it ever was. I let my fingertips skate a figure-of-eight around his nipples, just brushing the little flat tops of them.

I was kind amazed to see them rise for me, both of them. Sam gave a little grunt and even lifted up his head to look at them. He seemed as startled as I was. Poor guy, he's lived five long months without even a glimmer. But his body seemed to know now t it was in safe hands - hands that loved it. Nature is wonderful and mysterious sometimes. Sam's body knew what his mind couldn't quite believe yet - that it was safe to respond again.

I bent over him and put my mouth over one nipple, just molding my tongue over it and rubbing a little bit, feeling it harden as the warinth and moisture soaked into it. Sam laid his head back down on the pillow and rolled towards me a fraction. I teased with the very tip of my tongue, and the nubbly flesh around his tit got tight and solid under my tongue. God, how he tasted - salty and fresh like clean sea-water. When I pulled back, his nipple was rosy pink and standing up like a little tiny mesa in its ring of silky hairs.

And his eyes were smoldering, narrowed a bit, brows drawn down. Not blinking. He was really getting into this, in a big way. Crossed my mind Sam had never had much nipple play before - he's so much of a giver he probably never even thought of getting pleasured like this. Well, that's good. This is a brand new toy we got, something that's never been tainted for him.

I treated the other nipple to tongue, at the same time fondling the first firm wet nub with my fingertips. This time a soft moan rumbled in Sam's chest, and there was deep pleasure in it. That sounded almost as wonderful to me as his laugh. Lying half-over him, I felt him shift his hips a little bit on the bed, like the tension was beginning to build there. Took my hand offhis nipple and ran it up the outside of his thight. Somehow, in all of this, it didn't surprise me at all that a hard, hairy, muscular thigh felt like heaven under my hand. I wasn't anywhere close to getting hard, but the feel of Sam's strong male flesh under my hands was filling an ache in me.

Sitting back to get a good look at him brought a grin to my face. He was flushed, looking a little distracted, but still smiling. When I sat up he hesitantly touched one of his hardened nipples, squeezing it experimentally , eyes widening at the sensation. He looked struck with wonder, like he'd just found himself in a new unfamiliar body. I realized I'd forgotten to keep talking, I was so gone on the sight of Sam in pleasure. But he didn't seem to mind my silence now; he looked right into my eyes and I knew the horrors were further off now, like a thunderstorm receding into the distance.

I went back to stroking his belly, sweeping my hands over his sides and up the well-muscled ribs. He wasn't breathing so lazy now. I ran my hand all the way down one side and over the hairy thigh right down to his knee, and then very lightly up the inside of his thigh. The flesh was so soft there under the wiry hairs, I want to linger and feel it, but I also wanted to keep this light and unthreatening. As my fingertips skated over the crease where his thigh meets his body, the heat was intense. The muscles of his hip quivered under my fingertips.

I hadn't even looked at his cock until now, and Sam wasn't paying any attention to it either. I guessed from the way he was squirming around on the bed that he was starting to feel the pressure build inside, but he acted like he didn't know his dick existed. It certainly is a beauty - long and thick, pale-skinned and healthy pink at the tip. I always used to wonder why Sam was so damn modest - he was never one for marching around the locker-room in the buff, always made straight for the stalls, that kinda thing. Now I understood. He was tired of putting the rest of us to shame in the brains department, didn't want to start doin' it further South too. But, it didn't matter what I thought of it, the important thing was to get Sam to love it again. Find something that'll make him feel like it's part of him instead of a weapon that's been used against him. In Nature's way, it was responding to the nipple play - it had definitely gained some weight in the past few minutes.

I wanted to get closer to it. I let my fingers stray where they wanted to go, stroking the crease at the top of Sam's leg and dabbling in the sweat that moistened the hollow of his thigh, combing through the coarse hair around his balls. The strong scent of him that rose from the damp pubic hair made me long to smell him, to kiss him, to taste him. I bent my head and nuzzled in, lapping at the side of his sac. Jesus - he was tight as a walnut down there. I let the smell of him fill my head, licking him like a salt-lick. Suddenly he jolted so hard he nearly wrenched my neck.

I raised my head, trying to stay calm . We were pretty getting close to the site of the injury now, Sam coulda panicked...

Dammit, he was laughing again! "Samm... " I implored,

"Now what?"

"Nothing," he gasped, pressing his fingers into the place where I'd been licking. "Nothing. It's just.." he laughed again, "...that- that actually does tickle, Al!"

He lay back and closed his eyes, still rubbing in the hollow of his thigh, bending his right leg and splaying it a bit while he was doing it. I dont know if he was doing it consciously to send a message to me, or if he was just tryin' to get comfortable, but the vision of him lying there practically spreading 'em for me sent a hot tingle right through me. Immediately I felt the same dark shadow behing me that I've fet since teh day I foudn out that I'd been dreaming of fucking him someone had been raping him. The tingle died just like Fourth of July fireworks in a sudden storm.

"you don't need to be afraid of me, you know," he said quietly, and it wasn't until he said that I realized I musta let out a sigh or something. "I know, that sounds dumb considering that I am."

"What are you afraid of, Sam?"

"I'm not sure exactly. I guess that once it starts, I'll be...helpless again."

"You mean as in getting carried away?"

"Yeah." His voice was dry suddenly, his hand still and tense against his thigh . "Just then when I started to feel... I wanted to be carried away. But I - There's this... terror."

"I know, kid." I rubbed his shoulder gently. I noticed peripherally that now we'd gone the extra step forward, he didn't seem to mind me touching him in an everyday way at all. "That's natural, even when you haven't been..." I made myself say it too, if he could I could, "Even if you've never been raped. It's a little scary, letting go of your control, everyone feels that. But in the normal way of things it just feels so good you don't give a damn."

"No," he said softly, frowning.

"No? No it doesn't feel good, or no what?"

"No, that's not how it is - how it was for me. I always...I like to lose myself in someone, to commit to it."

That gave me pause. I shoulda known that, knowing Sam. It made it even worse, that someone could have taken that giving nature of his and twisted it to torture him with. What did that bastard see when he stood in the doorway of Sam's lab and looked in -just a body, just a shape? He didn't know the man's nature, what would be lost for his few tffinutes of mindless lust.

But Sam's right, we gotta close the door on that motherfucker and lock him out, for good. He's dead, God be praised. And we're alive. Something eased inside me with that thought.

I stroked Sam's arm to soften the words. "We gotta be realistic here Sam. Things are never gonna be the way they were, and yearning to change that is just wasting time. You showed me that. It's possible we'll never make love the way we want to. But that's not to say we can't do stuff together that says I love you and you love me. Hell, I say I love you every time I cook you a nice meal. You say you love me when you come sleep in my bed. Everything we do together says it, Sam."

He looked at me sadly, but quietly. I know this is the hardest thing for him, accepting that he can't make everything perfect for everybody. "There isn't any God, Al," he said softly, looking into my eyes kinda cautiously, in case he was treading on any deeply-held faith. "It's just us. What we do. How we survive what happens to us. We're the ones who are responsible."

That came at me right outta left field, I admit. I know he's been thinking about this stuff a lot, trying to figure out the meaning of what happened to him. I know he wanted to believe there was some higher purpose in all of it - the leaping, and what happened after. And I admit, the convent kid in me crossed myself now like I was hearing blasphemy - after all, if any soul was in a state of grace it was Sam Beckett's. But the certainty in his eyes was good to see, it was something close to peace.

I looked into his eyes, letting him know I approved with all my heart. Then I gave him a grin that had no place in any church. "Know what time it is now?" He shook his head, bemused by the change of tack.

I leaned close, one hand laying gently on his chest, and stage-whispered in his ear. "Bathtime."

His chest bounced under my hand as he laughed. "Ohhh, Al. Al." He laughed again, and before I could respond he sat up and kissed me. One strong hand behind my head, and his warm lips against mine. This time it wasn't diffident, and it wasn't frantic either. It was just a kiss.

There were tears in my eyes when he pulled back. I let him look at them for a moment, then turned away and hauled him gently to his feet . He followed me docilely, still chuckling.

When we got into the bath he paused, looking in the mirror at his reflection. What he saw seemed to surprise him, like it wasn't what he was expecting . It reminded me of the way he look in the mirror in a leap if the guy he leaped-into was handsome. Not that any of them were as handsome as Sam is naturally...well, maybe Elvis, but that's not the point. He touched the scar on his throat and frowned irritably, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over it like he could rub it out right now.

I started the shower and got in, holding out my hands to him. He took them and stepped in under the spray, then moved in closer and put his hands on my shoulders. Steam rose around us like it was hiding us from the world. I could see Sam's eyes shining through the haze.

We just stood like that for a while, letting the water pour over us like a pair of statues in a fountain. I watched the way it slicked Sam's taut body, and the way it dripped off the end of his nose. The way it flowed down his flat abs, bounced over the fat rosy length of his cock and streamed off the end of it. Clung to the hairs on the inside of his thighs, shining and dripping. He was a picture.

I grinned. There's a right time for confession. "This used to be my fantasy," I told him. "Y'know, when I'd take a shower. I used to imagine doing this with you."

"Yeah?" Water dripped off his eyebrows onto his flushed cheekbones. "You fantasized about taking a shower, while you were taking a shower. That's very economical, Al. A fantasy worthy of a physicist."

I didn't mention I rarely got past the scene-setting because of the guilty feelings. This was the time to put those days behind us. "You like the water," I explained with mock solemnity. "I wouldn't wanna put you in a fantasy you'd hate. "

"I love the water." He turned his face up to the shower-jet, letting it drench him, washing his eyes and everything. "Wasser ist Ieben."

"Huh?"

'"Water is life'." He shook his head, scattering drops far and wide. His hair looks longer when it's wet. I put my hand behind his head and stroked it gently, pushing just a little bit. Looking into his eyes. I wanted another of those kisses he gave me just before in the bedroom.

He got the message, and bent his head down time our lips were wet, and slipped and slithered against each other as we kissed. Warm clean water got into our mouths while hot tongues played there. I put my hands on Sam's hips and edged him a little bit closer. Felt his feet shift on the tile, felt the front of one strong thigh brush my cock.

Blood rushed to the spot. I felt my cock filling out, heartbeat gatheing speed. Samn, just when he'd gotten used to me bing a non-threat! I tried to discreetly edge away, but Sam's hand was on the back of my neck, his mouth wide open and greedy, and his tongue sliding along my gums was making my toes curl up. I gave up worrying and ran my hands up and down his back, washing the water over that broad, smooth stretch.

Sam gave a little grunt and turned us so his back was against the tile. I heard that. He didn't want his back touched, he pressed it tightly against the cold comfort of the tile. I realized he'd been scared, but he hadn't stopped kissing me, he hadn't quit. And suddenly I knew, the way you're sitting at the table watching that wheel spin and suddenly you just know you got a winner. A warm, slippery, firm dick pressed itself into my belly, and I heard that little silver ball fall into the right place as clearly as I ever have in my life.

Pulling my lips from Sam's, I made a quick pass of the soapdish and slathered my hands over his chest, rubbing his nipples between my fingertips until they were two snowy little K2s. I swept my hands over his belly, the water sluicing away the soap as quick as I could lather it up. Sam's eyes closed, though he kept smiling. He was thickening as the water flowed over him, warm water tenderly caressing him, and his balls were now so tight they were almost up inside his body. He gave a needful little moan and moved his feet a couple inches further apart, and I got down on my knees.

I've spent a fair few hours on my knees these past few months, but never with as much fervor in my heart as I had right now. I lathered up the coarse bush at the root of his cock, working my fingers into the hardness where it joined his body. It firmed more, and Sam bent his knees, groaning and trapping his hands behind him between his butt and the wall. I lathered his thighs and washed them thoroughly, stroking the insides gently - that was gonna be a favorite place of mine in the future I could tell. But this time I ayoided the ticklish place. The giggles had got us through the toughest stretch, I don't think we need 'em now. I got so taken-up with stroking him I musta lost track of time a fittle, because the next thing I felt nearly made me jump outta my skin.

I shook my head, trying to get the water out of my eyes and the Mexican jumping beans out of my balls at the same time. Jeez Louise - Sam had one foot off the floor, stretched elegantly between my legs, and he was stroking my sac with his toe, for cryin' out loud! I was real impressed with his sense of balance, he wasn't even holding onto my head to steady himself - must be down to all that martial arts training. I scissored my legs tight, trapping his ankle.

He grinned down at me. "Don't you like that?"

"Don't distract me," I grumbled. "Yes, I like it."

"I figured you would." The look in his eyes warmed my heart. He was still Sam, my Sam, generous to a fault. How long had he spent thinking about what I'd like, even when he had no idea if he'd ever be strong enough to do it for me.

"Flag that one for later, kid. Right now we're loving you, okay?"

He nodded, and I knew he understood. I didn't want to feel horny while I was doin' this for him.

"Okay," he whispered, and laid his head back against the wall, eyes closing again. I released his ankle and he stood firm on two feet again. I could see him give himself over to it completely, at last. He freed one hand from behind his back and sought one of mine, gripping it tightly.

It's funny, that's exactly what I'd wanted to do when he was hanging upside-down off that damn trapeze, or when he was sweating it on Death Row - just take his hand and grip it tight. Sometimes I'd wanted to so bad I'd come out of the imaging-chamber and find my palm bleeding where I'd been clenching my fist. But now, I had Sam's hand in mine. Reassurance for him, strength to me. Almost home.

I took a dispassionate look at Sam's cock. I've got a wide experience of the effects of disuse, overuse and even abuse on the male organ, and Sam's gave me reason for optimism. It was firm, wasn't hard, but it was full and the vein was proud. Sam didn't seem to want to touch it, but when I fondled it tenderly in my hand, he smiled a bit.

I kissed it softly, feeling the shower-water flowing off his cockhead and over my lips. I don't think I fully or really understood until that moment how sex can be a simple, natural expression of pure love. But when I kissed Sam's cock and felt its warm head stir trustingly against my lips, then I knew.

I put my free hand between my own legs, not to quell my baby erection or to encourage it, just to connect with what Sam was feeling. He continued holding my other hand tight, like a scared kid at the dentist, as I carefully slid my mouth onto his dick. I felt his thighs tense against my chin, and the water calmly rained down around us, soothing in the silence.

No matter how determined and relaxed he was, this moment was guaranteed to be tough for Sam. Hormones were gonna trigger memories, and there was nothing either one of us could do about it. The best thing was to go slow and steady. I've never done this for anybody before ever, but I've got an encyclopedic knowledge of what feels good, and I just started at A and worked through. I don't know if he'd ever had any of this stuff done for him before either - he's not the type to demand a quality blow-job any more than he'd ask for nipple-play. He held as still as he could manage, and seemed to be studying his body's responses like this was some weird new experiment. Well, fine - we can learn together. Tonguing the firm ridge at the underside of his cockhead got a grunt of approval, and swirling my tongue around the silky tip made his knees wobble. But he liked the tip of the tongue in the slit best, his cock jumped at that one - literally. He was getting bigger and bigger in my mouth - course I had no way of knowing how big he was gonna get, but there was a nice touch of steel in the firm flesh now and it kept trying to bump the top of my mouth. It felt alive, that's the best, and I could tell by the noises he made that Sam was going with the feelings it was giving him.

I didn't wanna take him all the way down my throat, in case he'd feel trapped there, but I tried swallowing him in a couple times and then pulling back. He really liked that, started bending his knees and sliding up and down against the wall, the hand gripping mine was clutched to his belly now, pressing just above his cock. His nails were digging into my palm just the way mine used when I couldn't touch him. I threw caution to the wind and swallowed him right down. I'd never done it before, but I didn't give it a second thought, carried away by Sam's enthusiasm. It felt weird, a bit chokey, but all I could really think about was how close we were - dammit, he was inside me. It blew my mind. I wanted to keep him in there, safe, where I could protect him from everything.

I pushed forward to get him further in, and suddenly he made a loud noise, a real wild wordless cry. I froze. I knew it wasn't tickling this time. His cock was so hard, and he didn't lose any of that, so I just waited, my jaws wide open so he only had to ive a little tug and he'd be out. He didn't pull out. The muscles in the front of hsi thighs were pressed against my face, and tey were so tense they felt as hard as his cock. They were trembling too, but it wasn't the shrinking tremble of fear, it was like banked-up potential energy, bursting to surge forward.

Sam must've realized I was waiting, because he found his voice. "Yes..." he ground out between clenched teeth. "Yes, Al..." And with a quick urgent tug he pulled our joined hands up and kissed them.

If I'd had a throat to sing with, I'd'a sung hallalujah. It was the best work I could've ever hoped to hear from him. I set to shoving my throat up and down his cock with more brio than I've ever put into fucking anyone in my life. He loved it, he arched into my mouth inexstasy, thrusting himself in hard and not giving a damn that the top of my head was bumping the stuffing out of him. I felt his cock swell and surge and a little flood of salt fluid suddenly leaked into my mouth. That is it, we have lift-off.

I suddenly realized I didn't want him to come with me down here and him up there, I wanted us to be holding each other, wanted to see his face and look into his eyes. I had to think fast because Sam was damn close now, trickles of pre-cum sliding down my throat with each thrust. Igripped the base of his cock between two fingers and started pumping him there, slowly slidng him out of my throat. I slid my lips up and down his shaft a couple time and then pursed them around the head of his cock like a tight cock-ring while I milked him with my fingers. He was so ready, after such a long abstinenece he had to be hurting. I don't know if he was trying not to shoot or he couldn't, but I didn't want to stretch it out. This time was just a simple release, to set him free.

I straightened up beside him, careful not to lose the rhythm where my hand was working him. He was breathing heavy and bearing down into my hand wtih little groans of need. I quickly shook my hand free and slipped an arm around his shoulders, and he lifted his back off the wall to let me. Then his arm snaked around my waist and clung on tight. He closed his eyes as heleaned against me and I kissed his temple. "It's okay, Sammy. We're doin' fine," I murmurer to him, picking up the temp o relentlessly with my hand. The water was bouncing off my arm and my hand was going so fast it was a blur.

Sam made a keening sound and clutched me clse against his side. "I can't-" The spray blubbered off his lips as he tried to talk. "Can't make it..."

I didn't even listen. If I'd've listened, I'd've had to ask him if he wanted me to stop. And if there was even a question, I couldn't go on. If I stopped now, with five months of cum trying to blast its way out of him, he'd feel like he was dying.

I just closed my eyes and picked up my pace more, letting the jerking move my hand instead of the other way round. I felt his body thrust into my hand, his hoarse groans, and suddenly I understood. I'm part of Sam, I could no more force him than I can force myself. That was always true, in every other part of our life, and it's true in this part too. I felt his need surge through me, and I leaned up and kissed him deep, letting him cry into my mouth. I kept up the pace of my hand like a wildly accelerating heartbeat, my fist rubbing both our bellies fast enough to make sparks.

Suddenly, Sam's knees gave. I held him up, still jerking him. Then he caught his breath and held it, every muscle going rigid. His spine arched off the tile and I felt the first spurt, thick and warmer than the shower-water, flood out and slither over my hand. It slid down my legs, I tracked that warm slickness every inch of its journey to the drain. Then the second was coming, and the third, pulsing out of him like foam under pressure. I never felt any sensation more beautiful, than Sam spilling himself on me. I counted eight long surges, three or four little quivery ones, before he started to soften and shrink in my hand.

I held his cock away from the shower-spray for a moment, and gathered handfuls of water to pour over it and bathe it, so he could look at himself and see he was clean.

"God, Al." He clung to me shakily, looking down at himself in awe. "I feel like I've just been born."

I smiled at him, stroking the side of his face where the shower was washing away the sweat. I felt like it was washing away all the agony too. His face was peaceful and bright, almost as perfect as he looked the day he stood on the tarmac and waved me off on my way to Washington all those months ago.

"Born, and thoroughly baptized." I smiled at him, loving him with every atom of me. "C'mon, let's get you to bed before you fall asleep and drown."

He fell asleep in my arms, in about ten seconds flat. Like a little kid with nothing to fear. I lay just listening to him breathe, every single breath reminding me that he was safe and whole and we'd made love together. As I lay there with him cradled against me, I felt his cock gently swelling in the soft sweat-pants he wears to sleep in. Not fully hard, just the normal nightly stirring. It made me smile. He'd looked so relieved after he came, knowing he had his virility back. He probably hadn't even admitted to himself before that how scared he was that it would never come back. The first time had been tough and scary, but now the road ahead was clear. For both of us.

The thoughts were so happy I didn't want to sleep, didn't want to miss a minute . But as the hours ticked by I felt the emotions building up and I needed to go outside for a while. Not to get away from Sam, just to be in the open air. Don't know why, but I always like to be outside when feelings get too much for me.

I stepped out of the French doors and looked up. Clear sky, just a little night breeze flapping my silk robe. I thought about a cigar - after all it was a night to celebrate - but it didn't seem necessary. Those things belong to other times, nights in bars in Saigon or days spent pacing the imaging-chamber. That life felt old now. Tonight was something else.

I looked up at the stars and a feeling of quiet came over me. Deep quiet, and stillness. It was deep into the Graveyard shift, hours past sundown and hours to go till daybreak . There wasn't a sound out in the desert - not a bird, not a coyote, not even a freight-train whistle in the far far distance. I listened to the nothing for while and let my mind settle. In spite of Sam's confidence that we're alone down here, I felt a need to pray. Offer thanks.

Why? Because Sam had had the strength and courage to claw back some of what should've never been taken from him in the first place? Yeah, maybe. I thanked God for Sam, like I do every morning and every night. Somehow it didn't make any sense a man as good as Sam being here in this world, unless there's a God up there to see it. Maybe I was just getting carried away by the relief of having him on the road to healing. But I gave thanks anyway.

Then I crept back in beside Sam and fell asleep with my head resting beside his on our pillow.

EPILOGUE

The last vestiges of the incredible autunm sunset filtered through the half-filled wine glasses reflecting a pinkish/amber light that darted and flickered around the porch of the new house. You could smell the fresh wood still, Sam thought, leaning against the banister and looking over the splendid vista before him.

Only one person besides Sam could've known of this place-no one but Al. Their plateau where both or each separately would go when life in the 'real world' became too much. Bena had called the place Peace and that was what had stuck. Simply put, Sam thought, sitting back in the comfortably padded porch swing, this place was the island he'd been looking for all his life.

"Lookin' for me, kid?"

Without a word, Sam held out his hand, inviting Al to sit beside him. The older man took his place next to his lover and sighed in tender contentment as Sam rested his warm head on his shoulder .

"Long day?" Al asked. "You seem tired."

"It wasn't bad-I like the new work." With deep satisfaction Sam briefly reflected on the new government contract and the freedom it gave him. "I can't tell you a day that has satisfied me more, Al." Turning, Sam looked into the brown eyes, so filled with love and trust. "I love you," he said simply, tracing a line from the bridge of Al's nose to his chin and then kissing him .

Al still could not get used to the way Sam tasted, or the soft and tender way he touched him. Not even most women showed such care, such...emotion. He wrapped his arms around the beautiful boy who was folded so close-nearly on his lap.

"Bena called and canceled," Al said quietly, smiling as Sam's eyes widened .

"You mean ..."

"Yep. We actually have our first night alone, Babe."

It was hard to believe that they'd lived in their new home for over a month and had not had a full evening alone. If it wasn't Bena or one of the staff, it had been Kate's prolonged visit with her son.

Relaxing, Sam closed his eyes and pressed his body as close to Al's as he could.

"So..."

"So." Al sighed and moved over just enough for Sam to stretch out a little more. "I figure we have another glass or two of wine..."

"Soft music?"

"Hmm... Maybe some Clannad?"

"Yeah." Sam stretched and smiled softly. "We could fluff out the featherbed... "

"Sam..."

"The sun is setting, Al. It always paints the bedroom..."

"Which is why you insisted we paint the walls white. Dull."

"Not right now it isn't." Sam sat up and, keeping one hand firmly in Al's looked over the vista before them. "The sun's setting, Al." Turning, he met Al's eyes with a smoldering look of his own.

"And...?"

"Let's go inside," Sam said quietly, taking his partner by the hand and helping him to his feet.

Together, the two men went inside of their home, one tall and grave, eyes sparkling, the other shorter with a mischievous grin on his face. If an outside observer had been watching they would have wondered about the love between them and could have felt the connection. It really was a special place.

Then...the door closed.

THEEND


End file.
